In the Light of Things

We're Still Idiots

Anything relating to, with, or by the press passes by both of them. The Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who Got Away With Murder living together raised suspicion, after all, and Draco was nothing if not a diplomatic aristocrat, and he'd be damned if he couldn't handle a few stray reporters.

And, finally.

They are both to discuss everything civilly, like adults, and neither are to walk away from a conversation. Ever.

That one was the one Harry despised the most. It seemed at the beginning, Draco would use it as an excuse to prove his point, a point that didn't need to be proven. Because they both have short fuses, Harry more than Draco, and having the blond snap at him to sit down and listen for the better half of the week had gotten old real quick.

Harry, with an adept memory, was only taken back to his days with the Dursleys, when Vernon would take advantage if his vulnerability, of his defeated submission. It would make Harry twitch hearing the same words his uncle would spit at him coming from Draco's mouth.

It had gotten worse, the arguments, when Draco had asked one night if Harry would show him his Patronus. Which, it shouldn't have been a big deal, but Harry blew up.

At that point Draco had just been curious to know what it was. Then, he had been hellbent on finding out it's corporeal form, and why the caster didn't want to show him.

Harry snatches his arm back and shoves Draco away. "I'm sick and tired of you telling me what to do. A relationship doesn't have rules, Draco. It has mutual commitments. Not commandments. I'm your domestic partner, not your business associate."

"We've lived together for how-long and you still don't see I don't work any other way? I grew up like this," Draco's voice breaks halfway through his sentence, but he ignores it and clenches his fists. "Instruction. I never had options, Potter. I was told what I needed to do and how to do it and I did it. Forgive me if I need to set ground rules to understand something I'm not familiar with."

"That's not even what this is about!"

"You're right. It's not," Draco's stare hardens. "It's about you not wanting to show me your Patronus."

"Why is it a big deal," Harry exclaims, tossing his hands into the air and storming up the stairs. Draco follows.

"Seven years, Potter! I've lived with your for seven years. I've put up with your customs and your habits and I know all your ticks and I have never asked for any proof of your fidelity--!"

"Then why start now!"

"Why won't you let me have this?"

"Why do you need it?"

"Because I need to know I'm worthy," Draco roars at the foot of the stairs.

The silence is terse, solid and palpable and unmoving, nagging at Harry's conscious that he's overreacting.

He is. He knows he is.

Draco more than deserves to know that Harry is loyal to him, and only him. He really has never asked for anything from Harry.

But.

If Harry proves himself to Draco, it makes everything more real.

The articles.

The pictures of Draco's loving gaze.

All the playful banter, the lingering touches.

And yes, maybe seven years had ought to show Harry just how committed he has been, but that was just living in the moment.