The Sleeping Beauty Curse

Chapter 16

Harry, who presumed by this that Pansy hadn't confessed her part in things to Draco's parents, held his tongue, and Draco squeezed his knee under the table. It wasn't adequate recompense. Particularly when Narcissa said that perhaps Lucius had made himself clear, and then she moved the subject on to the Greengrasses, and how Astoria was such a lovely girl, and did Draco know she'd got seven Os in her recent NEWTS?

"She'll make a fantastic Auror. I can't wait to train her up," Harry had said, just to piss Narcissa off, and Draco had choked back a laugh. It made him feel better, but only just.

At the end of the meal, Narcissa had given Draco an enormous heap of presents, which she produced from out of nowhere, and then asked Harry, voice sweet and cool, what he'd given Draco. Harry wanted to say that he'd given up all his dignity, by attending this meal, but he just shrugged and said, "Nothing," and then had to suffer Narcissa's pale disapproval for the next half hour as Draco opened box after box of expensive fripperies.

Then, just when he'd thought the whole thing was over, and he could go back home and kick the wall, Lucius announced that tomorrow Draco and Harry would be giving an interview to the Prophet. And as Harry started to splutter – no, he bloody wasn't – Draco just kicked him, under the table, and said, "Yes, Father," as if Harry didn't have a say in it at all.

The press outside the restaurant had grown in numbers as they left through the front door, and they snapped away happily at the unlikely group of them: Harry, arms stacked high with the presents Draco had impolitely shoved at him to carry, surrounded by Malfoys.

All in all, by the time they got back home it was mid-afternoon and Harry was steaming with suppressed rage. After dropping the presents in a heap, he kicked first the door, and then the wall, and then he had to take his boot off and massage his toe for a while because it hurt, blast it.

"Should I have got you a present?" Harry asked Draco, after he'd tracked him down to the living room. Draco was in his usual spot on the sofa, and the sight of him filled Harry with a warm, content feeling. Well, underneath the rage.

Draco turned his head. "I am your husband," he said without interest, then rolled his eyes. "No. I told you not to." He seemed twitchy, shifting restlessly on the seat, as if he was expecting an argument.

Harry sat down heavily, and then tugged at Draco's legs, heaving his feet into his lap. Draco allowed himself to be shifted like this, although he narrowed his eyes. "I don't see why you wanted me to come to that lunch," Harry complained, leaning his head back on the sofa and closing his eyes.

"Don't you?" Draco asked, as if Harry was stupid.

Harry didn't open his eyes. Maybe he was stupid, after all. "I really don't like your parents. And they really don't like me. What was that nonsense about an interview? I presume we're not going to do it."

There was a short silence. Harry could hear the ticking of the hall clock, from far away. "Of course we are," Draco said.

"Why?"

"To please my parents," Draco said – in Harry's opinion, spinelessly.

"All they want is for you to boost their miserable reputations!" he protested, opening his eyes again to glare at Draco.

Draco glared back. "Which I am happy to do," he said. "They're my parents. I love them. I'm sick to death of everyone disrespecting my father. If I can do anything to help him get his reputation back, I'll do it."

Harry started to carefully push Draco's feet off his lap, but Draco snatched his feet away as if Harry had given them a violent shove.

"Your parents still seem to think you're straight, and that you're going to marry Astoria when the bond is ended," Harry said loudly.