Queer & There

Chapter Seventeen
Self Help

Draco sat back and sighed. He was starting to get the idea that spending an evening with his mother had not been a brilliant plan. Since he had arrived an hour ago, she had not stopped talking.

"I did warn you, Draco darling." She paused mid-rant to look at him expectantly, raising her eyebrows. "Didn't I darling? Didn't I warn you?"

Draco resisted the urge to sigh heavily, and he replied wearily, "Yes, mother." He then paused for a beat, and sat up on his bed. "Wait, warned me about what exactly? You didn't warn me about anything."

"I warned you," Narcissa repeated, as though it explained everything. When Draco held up a hand as though to indicate confusion, she sighed. "I said, a gay man will break your heart. Because it's just a phase, so he'll use you and break your heart." She paused, and when Draco didn't speak still, Narcissa looked at him with wide, expressive eyes, and concluded, "I warned you."

Sitting up still more from his no longer appropriate reclining position, Draco shook his head. "But- okay, there's quite a lot wrong with that sentence, mother." Narcissa scowled. "There is!"

"Well, what?" Narcissa asked, a considerable lack of patience in her tone.

"He didn't break my heart-" Draco started, frowning. He definitely didn't think Harry had broken his heart. In all honesty, he didn't think he was quite at that stage yet - he wasn't in love with him, certainly, and Draco thought it took that much for a broken heart. Additionally, Harry hadn't done anything in particular wrong, other than just Be, and that wasn't really heartbreaking behaviour.

Narcissa, however, did not seem to realise any of these things, and cut him off. "Of course he did. Why else would you have moved out?"

"I haven't moved out," Draco insisted, sighing again. "I just needed a bit of a break. A bit of time. It's confusing, you know." When his mother didn't speak, he couldn't help but give a little smile. She seemed to be listening to him; this was a first. "I mean, being- in a relationship like this for the first time... it's...hard."

At this, his mother looked up, raised her eyebrows, and asked, "I'm sorry, what's hard? I have to admit, I was a million miles away."

Draco shook his head. "It's - nothing. Never mind."

"As I was saying, you really should have just ignored that silly curiosity of yours," Narcissa continued now, apparently speaking to Draco but actually looking at her nails for the duration of her talking. "I suppose it is fashionable to have a boyfriend these days, or some nonsense along those lines, but honestly, Draco. You cannot give into every little fad and phase."

"It wasn't a phase," Draco insisted, perhaps despite his better judgement - he was fairly certain his mother had an idea in her head that wasn't disappearing any time soon. "It's not a phase. Harry is not a phase. He's still my boyfriend."

Narcissa shook her head. "You sound like a fifteen year old girl. Now, how about you come downstairs with your mother? I'd like to show you the new gallery I had installed, it's absolutely fabulous."

Draco shook his head, and lay back down on the bed, causing the blonde woman who was now on her feet to give him an exasperated look. "Oh honestly, Draco, you hadn't even slept with the boy. Now come along."

"What?!"

Giving another shake of her head in apparent despair, Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Unfortunately, the Daily Prophet insists on giving a blow by blow report on all of Harry Potter's relationships. I know far more than I ever wished to, sadly."

Draco just gaped. "I- how would they know?!"

Narcissa shrugged, and took a sip of her drink, which was almost definitely alcoholic. It was two p.m. "Well, have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Slept with Potter," Narcissa stated, as though enquiring as to the weather. When Draco didn't reply, merely looked horrified still, the older woman smiled somewhat, although it seemed to be more sneering than kind. "Precisely. I really do not understand what all this fuss is about." She paused to open the door. "Well, I shall be down in the cream living room if you start feeling sociable again."

As she left, Draco flopped back on the bed. His mobile phone started to ring, and he glared at Fabos, who obediently flew across the room to bring it to him. The small owl was clearly struggling with the weight, and dropped it on Draco's stomach. Fabos was rewarded with another hostile glare.

The phone flashed up 'home' - home being Harry and his apartment. Fabos hooted, and Draco pointedly threw the phone across the room at him.

* * *

This was stupid, Draco thought as he sat at the oversized dining table in Malfoy Manor, opposite his mother and a 'friend' of hers that Draco was certain worked for a well known tabloid newspaper. Her presence made him uncomfortable, even though the two had ignored him for the majority of their time at the table.

"Would Sir like another glass of wine?" a small house elf spoke up, tugging at Draco's trouser leg a bit and looking up at him with wide eyes.

"No- thanks," Draco muttered quietly, shaking his head and turning back to his meal, which didn't really taste of anything.

"Is Sir not satisfied with the year?"

Draco frowned, distracted from this thoughts. "What year?"

The house elf frowned also, as though he could not understand. "The year of the wine, Sir. Trinkle assures Sir it is a good year, Sir."

Another sigh found its way out of Draco, and he shut his eyes for a long moment "No, it's- fine. It's not the year." He sighed again, and added in a still quiet voice, "I have a headache."

"Oh, Trinkle can help with that!" the house elf exclaimed, looking utterly beside himself, and he dashed off before Draco could say anything. Barely minutes later, Trinkle returned with a small purple vial, and set it in front of Draco proudly. He beamed at him hopefully.

Draco examined the bottle, and saw that it was a mild pain relief potion. He glanced from the bottle to the house elf, and was momentarily thrown by the immediate service. There was something he didn't quite like about it, and he stared at the potion a little longer.

"Is everything alright, darling?" Narcissa's voice broke him out of his thoughts again, and he looked over at his mother. "Are you not feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Draco muttered. "Just a headache." He held up the vial.

At the sympathetic coo that Narcissa's friend offered, the blonde woman remarked in a rather confidential way, "He's just left his boyfriend, haven't you, darling? He's obviously rather upset about it all."

Draco could see what was coming, and he did not need to look at the third person in the room to see that her eyes were growing wide with excitement, and that she was pulling her quill out of her purse, along with a fresh sheet of parchment.

"Well, how about you talk to me about it?" she asked excitedly. "It often helps to clear the air, after all. Nothing better than talking about your problems, Draco, it would be an awful help, I'd imagine."

"Yes, awful," Draco echoed with a raise of his eyebrows. The reporter flashed him a sympathetic grin, and wiggled her quill in her hand slightly. Draco thought it was probably supposed to be funny, but it alarmed him somewhat.

He got to his feet, and Trinkle tugged at his trouser leg again. "Sir, can Trinkle fetch you anything? It would be a pleasure."

Glancing down at the house elf, Draco remarked, "Something to kill myself with might be handy." Both Trinkle and Narcissa's mouths dropped, while the reporter seemed quite excited again.

Narcissa set down her napkin carefully, and eyed her son with suspicion. "What on earth is the matter with you, Draco? Have you gone mad?"

"Possibly," Draco replied with a bit of a shrug. "I'm going to pack my things, actually." When Trinkle started to speak, Draco held up a hand in weak protest. "No- no help. I think I can manage a pair of jeans and some hair charms." He turned to his mother. "Do you do anything for yourself?"

Seemingly affronted, Narcissa gasped, "I do plenty! I'm very independent, particularly since your father-" She trailed off, and gave a tearful sniff, which Draco could tell was entirely false. "Since your wonderful father passed away. Show some compassion, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you know, it's amazing you're not fat." As he started towards the large staircase out in the hallway, he was sure he heard his mother faint for the second time in not very long.

* * *

It took a few minutes before Draco could work up the courage to actually walk through the door of his and Harry's apartment. It was by now past 7 p.m., and he was not sure if his partner would be home or already setting up the club.

During the day, it had been somewhat easier to forget about the opening of Stage Two that evening. After all, it was not as though any silver birds had room to fly into Malfoy Manor, but on Diagon Alley - and any of the main streets in central London's wizarding area - it was near impossible to escape them. It seemed as though they were everywhere Draco turned, and had he not been in desperate need of avoiding them, he would have been proud to see what Harry had accomplished so far on opening day.

His heart was thudding as he turned his key in the lock, and he pushed open the door of the apartment. Slipping inside quietly, Draco looked around and was almost relieved to see the front room was dark, and he set his things on the kitchen table once he had reached it.

Draco then opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, only to see someone behind the door when he closed it. He gave a cry of surprise, and dropped the bottle directly on his foot.

"Fuck- Weasley, what the fuck are you doing?!" he exclaimed, giving a heavy sigh as he tried to compose himself. "You scared the crap out of me!"

He was met with a cold glare from Ronald Weasley, who stepped back out of the way of the water on the floor, and did not immediately speak.

When he did, his tone was even more hateful than usual. "Harry left his keys, I came to get them."

"Oh," Draco said quietly, glancing down at his feet and realising they were about to be covered in rather expensive bottled water. "Right."

"So what are you doing here?" Ron asked coldly. "I thought you ran off."

Draco shook his head a bit, kneeling down now with a towel, to mop up the floor a bit. "No, I... I didn't run off," he replied with a bit of a sigh, his voice even quieter still. "I just needed to think a bit."

"Yeah, well, you realise Harry's terrified that you've just gone and pissed off and left him all by himself. All by himself with a club." Ron folded his arms, and Draco noticed that he made no attempt to help clean the floor. "You're bloody useless, you know that, Malfoy?"

"Well, it's everywhere," Draco snapped. "You could at least give me a hand."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I was talking about Harry! He already has a weird thing about people abandoning him, and there you go running off at the first sign of trouble."

Draco paused for a long moment. "There wasn't- it wasn't the first sign. And it wasn't trouble, exactly. Come on Weasley, you can't tell me you wouldn't freak out if everyone was giving you all this - pressure."

"Who's everyone?"

"Well- Remus! And Hermione and Charlie- and everyone just seems to think we should be married or something when we haven't even had sex yet, for crying out loud."

Ron's face was screwed up disgust now. "That was more than I needed to know, Malfoy."

A silence fell over them, as Draco finished cleaning the floor, and Ron searched for Harry's keys. After a moment, Draco spoke up, "He always leaves them on the left side of the table by the balcony. And he always forgets them. It's really annoying, because he always calls and I always have to get Fabos to take them to him."

Ron glanced over at Draco, who got to his feet, and then peered over at the table. Sure enough, Harry's keys were just as Draco had said they would be. There was another long silence.

"Do you, uh- do you love him or something?" Ron asked, sounding unsure, and Draco frowned deeply.

"It's not- that has nothing to do with it!" Draco said quickly, but he paused, and again the room went quiet until he added, "It's- love doesn't have anything to do with it."

Ron shrugged and folded his arms again. "I reckon he loves you."

Draco shook his head. "No, he doesn't. He shouldn't. It's too soon - way too soon."

"Fine then, he cares about you. For some reason," Ron added vaguely, shrugging again and reaching for his jacket, which had been slung over the side of the sofa. "And you're being a complete bastard."

"I'm not!" Draco exclaimed, and he motioned vaguely with his hands around the apartment. "I'm just- it's too much, and it's too soon. You try going out with the Wizarding World's wonderboy! You try- being gay all of a sudden, it's not easy. It's confusing and I haven't so much as been on a date before this so - you try it, Weasley. Go on, have a go and tell me it's that easy." He swore under his breath, before his eyes settled on Ron, who just seemed somewhat taken aback.

"Alright Malfoy, I didn't ask for your life story," he muttered, coughing a bit and looking uncomfortable, as though he had said the wrong thing.

Draco sighed. "Are you going to the club?"

"Well, obviously."

"Give me five minutes- I'm coming too."

* * *

When they finally reached the club, queues were starting to form. It had taken Draco slightly longer than five minutes to get ready (as Ron had so rightly put it, five minutes "and an extra bloody hour on top of that"), and he was pleased to see that by nine o'clock the outside of Stage Two harboured a line of many young witches and wizards, all of whom were chatting animatedly about something or other.

Draco and Ron slipped straight past this queue, to the back door, after being looked over suspiciously by the doorman there. Draco was well aware that the doorman was only concerned because he had heard about the current state of his relationship with Harry, and that it was nothing to do with taking security measures.

Although the doorman did not stop him, the second he stepped through the door, Hermione Granger did. She marched over to him quickly, fleetingly looked angry, and then threw her arms around him.

"Wh- Granger!" Draco exclaimed, at the same time as Ron launched into a protest of his own. "Get off, would you?"

Hermione pulled back, fussing awkwardly at her hair, which had been pulled back. She wore a silk, pale blue dress, and Draco had to admit she looked quite lovely. "I really hope you're here to speak to Harry," she said now, her eyes fixing on Draco hopefully.

He paused. "Well, yeah."

"Oh, thank Goodness. He's upstairs." Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she spoke. "You are going to apologise to him? It's that sort of speaking?" She winced a little bit.

"Probably." Draco looked past the door. "Can I- you're blocking the door." Hermione quickly moved out of the way. "We're not open yet, are we?"

Ron shook his head now. "In a minute, though. You've got about ten minutes, probably."

As Draco started towards the stairs, Hermione walked after him, her shoes tapping across the floor until she could reach out and touch his arm. He stopped, and she asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to say?"

"Not really. I don't- I don't really know what I'm trying to tell him, so."

"Well, shouldn't you think about that first? Come up with a sort of- strategy, or an order of events at least, or-" Hermione stopped, looking uncertain.

"If I do that, I'll never actually get to the speaking part," Draco pointed out, a bit of a smile fleeting across his lips. "Why do you even care?"

Hermione was quiet then, and she bit her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose I just want to see Harry happy. And- you, as well. You're not such a bad person as we all hoped." She gave him a hint of a smile, which Draco returned. He then turned his back on her, to start up the stairs.

The walk up felt a lot longer than it probably was, because Draco had no idea what to expect. For Hermione to have been that worked up, Harry must be upset, or angry, or something extreme, and the idea left Draco on edge, and uncertain if he wanted to be around the other boy. But, he knew he had to speak to him at some point, and now seemed as good a time as any.

Or, incidentally, as bad a time as any.

Draco reached the small office, and stepped inside just as quietly as he had done when he had entered his and Harry's apartment only an hour or so ago. He looked to the desk nearest the window, and sure enough Harry was there, looking at him expectantly.

"We should probably-" Draco said.

Harry finished for him. "Talk?"

Draco nodded silently, and gave a little sigh. He closed the office door behind him.