The Boy Who Lived

Self-Humiliation

The next week was Draco's twenty-second birthday and he'd taken the morning off work as a treat. He placed the letter from his mother to one side. He knew he needed to speak to her, probably sit down and have a heart-to-heart with her but that would mean going to France and being captured in her company for several days. And she was so good at adding the pressure about getting married and producing a Malfoy heir. Sometimes she was as bad as his father. And now, here with Harry, for the first time in his life (not including Voldemort's death and his father's execution), he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He understood what had always been sitting at odds within him. He felt, he realised, happy.

Harry had taken the morning of Draco's birthday off work and over breakfast he asked for Draco's advice. He saw Harry wink at Teddy but he pretended he didn't see.

'It's the attic rooms, will you come up.'

He knew Harry had been up to something in the two empty rooms, there had been owls coming and going, and some banging and scraping of boxes and Hermione had been over a couple of times and they'd both disappeared up there. Draco tried to feign that he wasn't jealous especially as he kept wondering if there was something more than friendship between the two of them.

He followed Harry up to the top of the house. Teddy held his hand; the boy looked excited.

'I can't quite get the layout comfortable and I've been trying to decorate but can't quite get the colour-scheme right' Harry said.

'Well,' Draco drawled, disappointed because he had hoped that Harry had been hiding a birthday present up in one of the rooms. 'If I were you, I'd put the desk under the window, does it fit in the alcove?'

'I can resize it,' and with a wandless flick of his wrist the rather nice antique oak desk slid into the alcove perfectly.

Draco tried to privately profess that he was perfectly unaffected by Harry's wandless magic after nearly two months but, in truth, it just seemed to draw goosebumps over his skin more sensuously each time. It was, quite possibly, driving him mad.

'Should the bookshelves go over there or would the armchair be better in that corner?' Harry asked, a slight smirk showing in his eyes as he leant nonchalantly against the doorframe. He scrubbed a hand through that messy hair that Draco was itching to tease his fingers through. Only to style properly, he convinced himself.

Teddy was sitting in the deep leather armchair which looked old and worn but perfectly soft and comfortable and inviting. He had his hands on the armrests and his feet stuck out straight in front of him because his legs were too short to bend over the edge and he was watching carefully with his mouth tightly shut as if to prevent himself accidently blurting something out.

'The bookshelves should line that wall,' Draco said, bemused.

Harry obliged, causing another shiver to course through Draco's body.

'And the colours?'

'Oh,' Draco said. 'Well, I suppose a darkish colour to make the space intimate and warm. I like the dark wood shutters and floor and the white woodwork. Of course, if it was my space, I'd chose a mushroomy grey and a green accent wall and rug too... so it's nearly Slytherin colours but subtler.'

'...Hmmm,' Draco said at Harry's changes. 'Maybe the green should be a bit more turquoisey... yes.'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'I like it too. What do you think, Teddy?'

Teddy nodded in a very grown-up way, pursing his lips. 'Mhem, yes,' he mused. 'I think it's very suitable.'

'Haven't you got a study downstairs, Potter?'