Work Text:
Dinner
"Please, Potter?" Draco wheedled, rubbing his head against Harry's shoulder like an overgrown cat.
"Please what?" Harry replied, confused. Draco hadn't actually posed a question yet.
Draco contorts his face into what he probably hopes is a winning smile. It's quite successful, mainly because Harry is pretty much powerless when it comes to refusing Draco's requests. "I'll tell you once you've agreed," he says, hope written all over his expression.
Warning bells go off in Harry's head. He tries to run through all the things Draco would want that he would refuse.
"Is it kinky sex stuff?" he asks, wary.
Draco splutters a little. "Um," he says, and it's rare for him to stutter, "No."
Oh dear.
"On a scale of one to ten, how much will I hate what you want me to do?"
Draco is quiet for a moment.
"About an eight," he says finally, the lie clear in his voice.
"It's a ten isn't it."
Draco sighs. "It'll make me really, really happy?" he tries.
"Tell me what it is, and I'll probably agree," Harry tries.
"You won't. You have to promise before I tell you."
"This is blackmail!"
Draco frowns. "Not really," he says, shifting closer to Harry on the sofa, so that their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to mid thigh. "But it could be." He places a hand on Harry's thigh and begins to move it upwards, torturously slowly.
Harry grabs the hand and moves it away from him, though already he can feel his heart rate raising at Draco's touch. Bloody, impossible, beautiful man.
"No way," he says, as firmly as he can. "I'm not agreeing to anything when you have me on the verge of orgasm."
"I only touched your thigh!" Draco protests.
"I know you." Draco had an annoying habit of getting Harry to agree to all kinds of things during sex. In the throes of orgasm, when Harry was unable to say anything but yes and when he could only utter compliments, Draco would ask him to take the rubbish out for a weak, clean the loo, do the grocery shopping.
Harry had never quite managed to turn the trick back on him.
Draco sighs and leans back with his eyes closed. "Fine. I'll tell you. But please don't just say no. It's important to me."
"OK. I promise I'll seriously consider it."
"Dinner with my parents on sunday?" Draco says hopefully. Harry leaps up of the couch.
"No way!" he yells.
Draco frowns and crosses his arms. "Seriously consider? That's you seriously considering?"
Harry nods. "Yes. After serious consideration, I have decided not to go to dinner with a man who hates me, who gave a horcrux to my best friends little sister, who was in league with fucking voldemort, and who treats everyone - even his son, who incidentally is my boyfriend, with utter contempt."
Draco's cheeks flush red.
"He's my father," he says quietly. "They are still my family, Potter. They care about me."
"They are awful," Harry protests.
Draco turns on him, lips a thin angry line. "You don't understand, OK? You'll never understand family. Your family are all people you chose, OK? People you choose to love and be loyal to. You don't have obligations like I do. I know my family are flawed - something else you won't understand - but they are still my family. They are still the people who raised me and cared for me. And they fucked up, but so did I. If you can forgive me, you should at least give them a chance. For me."
"You've not met my parents," Harry says, rather petulant.
"For fucks sake Potter, they are dead! That's not fair. And I've stayed with your Weasleys. For Christmas! It's dinner, OK, on New Year's eve. A few hours of awkward small talk. That's all."
Harry sits back down with a sigh. Part of him wants to be mad at Draco for all his words about not understanding him. But he knows it's true. He's never been conflicted about any of the people he loves, except Draco himself. And he got past that.
He just resents Narcissa and Lucius for what they put Draco through, for what they put Ginny through. For their general nastiness.
"They aren't as bad as you think, OK?" Draco says. "In first year, Father wrote to me every week. Mother sent me chocolates whenever I was sad or lonely. Which was most of the time, honestly. They were there for me. Their only mistake, really, was being on the wrong side of the war."
"That's glossing over the nasty details."
"You didn't let them go to Azkaban."
Harry sighs. "They are bigots."
Draco nods.
"They didn't speak to you for a week when you came out."
"In their defence, Mother has been dreaming about being a grandmother since I stopped wearing nappies."
"Could have had another kid."
Draco shakes his head. "I nearly killed her. She was told a second pregnancy was too dangerous. But they got past it. Everyone needs some time to adjust to their view of someone changing. You didn't speak to me for a week after we kissed that first time."
"We didn't speak at all back then," Harry points out. "Fine. I'll do it. Once. For you."
Draco kisses him softly. "Thank you," he whispers against Harry's lips. And Harry can't quite hate himself for any decision that makes Draco smile like that.
"Now, pinky promise before you change your mind."
"Sunday is tomorrow," Harry points out.
"I know you, Potter."
"Fine, fine." Harry offers his pinky and links it with Draco's. "What do your parents even do these days?" he asks. Lucius is under house arrest, and Narcissa has always been a lady of leisure, as far as Harry could tell.
"Well," Draco says.
Harry grins, sensing a story.
"Since father no longer works for the ministry, he has rather a lot of time on his hands. He's err... taken up knitting."
Harry snorts. Draco elbows him.
"Don't diss a constant supply of warm socks," he says.
Dinner with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy sounds like a new form of torture. Even though Harry has largely put the war behind him, and formed alliances with many of people from the other side, he's never quite got past his dislike of Lucius. But he's Draco's father, and though Draco has questionable taste in many things (for example, pizza toppings and sandwich fillings) largely Harry trusts his opinion.
It's odd to imagine Draco young, sat in his Mother's lap, or hugging his father's leg. Not that Harry knows a lot about what it's like to be young and loved. But that's what Ron and Hermione's kids do. That's what Teddy does when he sees Harry.
A thought crosses his mind, a thought that makes him resolve to at least make an effort with Draco's parents. Whatever they are like, they weren't as bad as the Dursley's. Draco grew up loved, which is more than Harry can say for himself. And that's pretty important, really.
"So, why the sudden invitation?" he asks.
Draco sighs. "Mother and Father realized that their only son dating the chosen one not only firmly allied them with the winners of the war, it also made them look liberal and accepting - so, everything they are not - basically they reckon you are good for our reputation."
Harry laughs. "Oh good. I thought they were actually just trying to be nice. I was worried."
Draco shakes his head. "Potter, we both know they haven't exactly made the best first impressions-"
"Or second. Or third. Or-"
"Whatever. But they are trying. The least you could do is try as well."
Harry mutters something under his breath. Something about how he didn't sacrifice his only son to the dark lord, so really he shouldn't have to make an effort at all. Draco just pats him on the shoulder reassuringly.
"Father has also taken up cooking, since his house arrest. He's surprisingly good at it."
...
"Do I look OK?" Draco asks Harry, frowning into the bathroom mirror. Harry leans over and presses a kiss to Draco's neck.
"Always," he says, without even looking.
"You didn't look."
Harry laughs. "Shouldn't I be the one worrying about appearances?"
Draco raised an eyebrow at his reflection. "One, you don't have Malfoy's for parents. I'm always worried about appearances. Two, you are the chosen one. You can walk round in a bloody bin bag and the world will still want to lick your feet. Three, since when have you cared even slightly about your appearance?"
"Good points well made," Harry says. For Draco's sake he goes to his wardrobe and finds a shirt that fits decently and doesn't have any food stains on it. He pulls it on and returns to the bathroom, casting a quick charm to get rid of the wrinkles. His socks are odd, but he leaves them that way. He's Harry Potter. He has to break a few social conventions in order to get through the day.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No, Potter. No I'm not. Have you seen my hair? Does it look ready?"
Harry shrugs. "I like it like that."
"Like I just rolled out of bed? Like you? It's lazy."
"S'cute. All rumpled... and soft," he reaches out, knowing it will annoy Draco, and runs his fingers through the soft blonde strands. "You know... we could forget all about this. And roll back into bed," he presses closer to Draco, winding his arms around his waist, letting his fingers run the slight ridges of Draco's ribs. Draco tries to wriggle away, but Harry persists until Draco turns in his arms to kiss him, pressed up against the sink.
Eventually though, just as things are getting interesting, Draco pushes him off.
"We'll be late," he says.
Harry sighs. "I'd bloody kill for Hermione's old time turner right now."
"She had a time turner?"
"That's another story. Hey, I think your hair looks great now."
It's sticking up all over the place, looking exactly as if hands have just been running through it. Draco emits a long suffering sigh and starts over.
Eventually, despite Harry's best efforts, they are ready and presentable. Except for the fact that Draco has been forced to wrap a scarf around his neck to cover the bruise blooming on his neck from Harry's latest attempt to seduce him.
With a regretful look towards the bedroom, Harry takes his boyfriend's arm and apparates to Malfoy Manor.
...
They arrive in a large room that contains only a mirror, a small table, and several low chairs. The kind that look like sofas, but have cushions stuffed so stiff they are like rocks to sit on. The walls are plain, though several huge portraits look down their noses at Harry, their lips pursed as though the only thing stopping them screaming like Walburga Black is the presence of the Malfoy heir.
Harry looks at Draco. Draco simply takes a seat, crossing his suited legs neatly, and waits.
"Um," says Harry, intelligently.
Draco raises an eyebrow.
"What are we doing here."
"Waiting, of courses."
"It's your home," Harry says, though looking around he decides it feels more like a posh hotel or a museum than a home. "Why are we waiting?" At the Weasley's, you either apparate into the back yard and come in through the back door, or just floo right on into the lounge and get on with whatever you've come for. Within thirty seconds or so, Molly will bustle in, hug you and thrust food upon you, before leaving you to fend for yourself amidst the chaos.
Draco sighs, as though Harry is a particularly ill trained puppy. Harry thinks he is quite polite, really, as 22 years old guys go, but for Draco, manners are a way of life.
"We are waiting to be received."
"Huh," says Harry. He takes a look at the portraits, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at them, and then sits down beside Draco. "How long will we be waiting?" he whispers, lips against Draco's ear. Draco elbows him.
"Watch it. The portraits have little to do except pick up the small bits of gossip they can."
"Then let's give them something good to gossip about," Harry whispers. Part of him knows he is only being so obscene to cover up his nerves. Draco knows it too, and only kisses him fondly on the forehead and takes ahold of his hand.
A few moments later, the door is opened. Harry expects it to be opened by a house elf, or a freaking butler of something. But Lucius Malfoy stands in the doorframe, hair now silver instead of blond, with Narcissa beside him, her face as pinched as every, though her lips are curled up in a valiant attempt at a smile.
"Draco, Mr Potter," Lucius says, bowing his head slightly at Harry, in a mark of respect that costs more than the muscles needed to move it. "Please, allow us to escort you to the dining room."
Harry has to bite his lip not to laugh at the absurd formality of it all. Lucius Malfoy, bowing his head to him? It was so absurd that Harry could barely believe it. As they walked, Harry noticed Lucius was not wearing shoes. Instead, he wore thick, chunky knitted socks.
Harry was reminded of Neville's boggart, back in third year. The image of Snape with a dress and handbag fit into the same category as Lucius and fluffy socks.
"Don't say anything," Draco whispers. "They are trying."
...
No one speaks much until they are sat around a ridiculously large dining table. Harry finds himself looking down at more cutlery than he has in his entire apartment. And that's just for one person. He glances at Draco, silently pleading for help. But Draco just smirks. Vengeance for being such a prat about meeting the parents, he supposes glumly. Now he is going to make a right fool of himself.
"So, Draco, are you well?" Narcissa says. Her voice is soft, as though she is afraid of saying the wrong thing. She looks at Draco like the sun shines out of his arse though, and Harry is forced to reconsider some of his ideas about life in the Malfoy household.
"Very well, Mother. Harry and I have been preparing to move into our apartment, as you know,and despite a few issues with setting up our floo address, everything is progressing smoothly."
"Are you sure that little apartment in London is going to be big enough?" Lucius asks.
"Yes. We saw the pictures you sent with the last letter. It doesn't have a dining room, or a drawing room, or a -"
"We don't need a complete inventory of the rooms we have here," Draco cuts in smoothly, "We'd be here all day. Harry and I agreed that we wanted something spacious, but not too big. After all, it's just the two of us."
Narcissa looks slightly horrified at the prospect of a dwelling with less rooms than she has fingers.
"It might not always be just the two of you," Lucius says.
"Pardon, Father?" Draco asks.
"Grandchildren, Draco. Don't leave me and your Mother with no one to spoil."
Harry chokes on his water. Well. This was new. The Malfoy's wished him to raise children with their son so they could dote on them. He doesn't know whether to be pleased at their apparent acceptance, or horrified at the idea of Lucius holding any child of his.
"Father!" Draco says, the faintest of blushes dusting his sharp cheekbones. "We haven't discussed children yet."
"Well of course," says Narcissa. "You aren't married."
Harry is glad he isn't eating anything yet, or he is sure he would be choking. Draco finds his hand under the table and rubs a thumb across Harry's knuckles in reassurance.
"So, Father, how are the renovations going?" Draco says, swiftly changing the subject. Lucius frowns slightly at the topic change.
"Well," he says, clearly uninterested in the topic. "They shall be finished in a month. Mr Potter, how is work?"
Harry clears his throat, abruptly nervous.
"I'm still in training, sir," he begins. "Only a few months left until I'm a certified auror though."
"It's so reassuring to know that you will be out there keeping our society safe," says Narcissa. Harry almost gags at the hypocrisy of her words. Lucius seems to notice the tension written on Harry's face (not that that would take a genius)
"Well said, Darling," he says. "We all know how some of us can be... misguided. Not all of us are as strong willed as you, Mr Potter. The wizarding world is lucky to have you."
"Well," says Harry slowly, treading carefully. Draco looks wearily at him. But he isn't so hot headed as he was as a teen. "Let's put the past behind us, shall we?"
Narcissa and Lucius nod, visibly relaxing. Harry hadn't considered that they would be nervous to have him here. But it seemed obvious now he had noticed. The Malfoy name had been condemned by both sides of the war - the light side, for originally being dark, and the dark side, for switching sides at the last minute. But they had switched. Even if it were almost too late, even if it were out of cowardice. When the war ended, they hadn't stood beside voldemort.
Maybe that should count for more than Harry had previously thought.
Discussions of society and war were put aside for something that made Harry far more anxious. Dinner. The cutlery glinted, reflecting the light of the chandelier above in a way that seemed to mock Harry horribly.
Dishes were brought out by houses elves on platters, more than Harry could possibly taste in one meal. Not that he was surprised. A special main course was placed in front of Draco, who had recently become a vegetarian. Harry wondered if he was going to be served kangaroo or something, and began to wonder if he should have joined Draco in giving up his carnivorous ways.
"Well," said Lucius, picking up his knife and fork. "A toast, I think. To a better year for everyone, I think."
Harry raises his glass and clinked it against Draco's. Then he picks up a fork at random, and eats cautiously.
"Draco Darling, how is your meal?" Narcissa asks, after taking a dainty bite of salmon. "Are you sure this... vegetarian diet is doing you good? You look awfully pale."
Draco smiles. "I am always pale, Mother. And it's quite delicious. Thank the elves for me."
"I'm not sure about this quorn," Lucius says. "It sounds awfully common."
Draco rolls his eyes and keeps eating. "You two need some new hobbies, if you are spending time worrying over my diet. How's the knitting, Father?"
And then Lucius Malfoy blushes, and Harry has a weird vision of what Draco will look like when they are old. He makes a mental note to tell Ron about it later.
"Quite well. How's Healer training?"
Draco grins, the way he always does when he gets to talk about his profession. "Excellent. My final exams are at the same time as Harry's. We'll be on revision lock down in a month's time."
Narcissa and Lucius didn't understand why Draco wanted to work. Especially not in a job that required as much training and effort as a healer. They didn't mind so much now though - Draco's job went a little way to restoring some decency to the Malfoy name.
Draco is telling his parents some story about a patient he got to treat the other week. His eyes are brighter when he speaks about things like this, things he is passionate about. They glow, and the more animated Draco is, the warmer and more relaxed Harry feels, as though their emotions are in sync. Great when they are happy, he thinks wryly, but it's bloody awful when they are sick.
Harry takes the opportunity to simply sit back and watch Draco interact with his parents. Lucius looks politely interested, though it's quite easy to see that he isn't overly interested in an elderly man's struggles with boils. Harry can't blame him. Only Draco likes to discuss things like that. Narcissa, on the other hand, smiles at her son in a way that is genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners and the hard line of her mouth softening.
Draco grew up in strict household, Harry realizes, as strict as his own upbringing in the Dursleys. He was indoctrinated with the toxic beliefs of his parents. But, now that he was older and speaking out against those beliefs, he was still welcome in his home, still welcomed by his parents. Even when he came out as gay, and even when he started dating the mortal enemy of Malfoy's object of worship. And his own enemy, actually. Sometimes Harry almost forgot the past rivalry between them. He only remembered it, brutally and painfully, when they fought with each other. They always had had harsh tongues.
At some point in Draco's story, the dishes are cleared away and pudding is brought in. Inwardly, Harry sighs with relief. It's nearly over. He glances at his watch - 8.45 pm. He hopes he can be alone with Draco for the beginning of the new year.
"Harry?" Draco prompts, nudging him under the table rather sharply. Harry blinks and realizes he has tuned out the entire conversation.
"Huh?" he says, and is obscurely reminded of the many times he zoned out during class. Lucius is frowning slightly at his lack of manners. An identical expression is present on Draco's face. "Sorry," Harry says, apologetic. "Food coma."
He is met by two blank expressions, and the feeling that he is somehow being a terrible guest spreads through him.
"You know," he says, trying to explain. "When you eat way too much and you just get really sleepy and heavy? Good food, by the way. Can't go into a food coma on any old rubbish."
"It's a compliment," Draco says, coming to his aid. "Harry still has a few...odd muggle sayings."
"Well," says Lucius, and Harry tenses. Dangerous territory, he thinks. But Lucius merely smiles and says; "I think it's a rather useful term. I shall adopt it into my vocabulary."
Harry grins. "Your welcome, sir."
The atmosphere warms a degree or two.
"And how are your muggle relatives?" Narcissa asks. Harry stiffens. But she isn't asking for his life story or anything. It's an innocent question.
"No idea," he says cheerfully. "I hate them. Bloody idiots."
Narcissa inhales sharply. "Muggles?" she asks.
"Oh. No. Just them. Well, not just them. Actually I've not met many nice muggles, but it doesn't mean there aren't any and-" he is cut of by Draco kicking him the ankle. He's rambling.
"Sorry," he says. "We don't get on."
"I saw a wonderful article about you in the Prophet the other day, Mr Potter," Lucius says. Harry can feel Draco rolling his eyes beside him. Harry resists the urge to do the same. It is almost certain that anything the prophet printed about him was anything but wonderful. Well, anything but true, at least.
"Oh yes?" Harry says politely. "I don't tend to read it too often. They were rather nasty about me during the war."
"Well, they were certainly singing your praises this time. Funny how times change. A story about how you saved a duckling from a rogue dark wizard."
Harry laughs at the absurdity of it. What on earth?
"Sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I don't recall saving any ducklings lately. Sometimes when news gets slow they like to make stuff up. I've been under the radar for a few months. Busy with studying, you understand."
"Well, I'm sure that will all change when you and Draco make your big announcement," Narcissa says with a smile.
Harry looks at Draco, and is faced with a carefully blank expression.
"Ah. Yes," Harry says, deciding to just go with it.
"Dinner was lovely," Draco says, glancing at his watch. "We'll have to be off soon though. We're meeting Andromeda and Teddy to bring in the new year."
Narcissa sniffs at that. They still haven't put aside their differences. It's an effective way to bring the conversation to a close at a rather convenient time.
Draco stands and goes to kiss his mother on the cheek. He then shakes his father's hand. Harry hovers behind him, unsure of the protocol. Reluctantly, he shakes Lucius's hand as well. He is then engulfed by perfume as Narcissa stands and embraces him in an awkward, bony hug.
Well I never, he thinks.
"We'll see ourselves out," Draco says, in a hurry all of a sudden.
When they are back in their Harry's apartment, he turns on Draco with narrow eyes.
"What?" Draco says innocently.
"What? What do you think? What is your mother expecting to see in the papers?"
Draco sighs. "They are very traditional, Harry. Is dating like this, with no plans for marriage, it makes her very anxious."
"The paper?"
Draco sighs. "She seems to think we'll be engaged before long, and that we'll announce it in the paper."
Harry splutters.
"That wasn't a proposal, by the way," Draco adds hastily. "Once they accepted us, they got a bit...too accepting."
"Grandchildren," Harry says. Then he burst out laughing, so hard that he collapses on the couch. Draco sits opposite him and just waits.
"Dinner," Harry gasps out. "Dinner with the Malfoy's. She hugged me! Your mother hugged me. Your father wears wooly socks. The world's gone daft."
Draco narrows his eyes. "Really, Potter. You are quite rude about my family."
"Sorry, sorry. I just... I thought it'd be so much worse. I thought they'd hex me or something, or feed me only brussel sprouts."
Draco shakes his head. "You," he says, "Are an idiot."
"I know why they like you dating me," Harry says, suddenly serious. "And it isn't because of their warm, fuzzy feelings for the boy who lived."
Draco just waits.
"What better way to repair the Malfoy name," he says, "Than to anchor it to mine? Then, of course, you have the publicity, and their liberal feelings towards our blatant homosexuality. It goes against everything they used to believe, but we, well, we make them look great."
Draco doesn't deny it. "Slytherins, Harry. What do you expect of us? I'd be disappointed if they'd reacted any other way."
"But... don't they hate everything I stand for?"
"Not everything. You're a half-blood, which isn't so bad. You are wealthy. Respectable job. Well connected. Famous. Yeah, you don't advocate inbreeding, but honestly my parents were as indoctrinated as I was. I think, well, they might still be bitter sometimes, about how it all turned out - Slytherin's are sore losers - but I think they are glad to be free of it."
"I'm glad to be home," Harry says, patting the space beside him. Draco kicks of his shoes and pads across to Harry, curling up beside him.
"I'm glad you came," he murmured. "Thank you."
"Look, now I know how good the food is, I'll go back anytime," Harry grins.
Draco takes his hand and turns his wrist so that he can read the time on his watch.
"Happy New Years, Harry Potter," he whispers, leaning in and kissing Harry.
"And you, Malfoy," Harry whispers back, grinning against Draco's lips.