Facade

The distance to the Burrow was considerably longer than 50 miles. Harry was kept occupied for the most part by his memories of the past week at Hogwarts. He gazed out the window at the landscape, allowing the breeze of motion to fight the sweat of the hot summer day. The air was not cool, but at least it was moving. The dark haired boy felt stifled enough even in the light summer trousers and jacket. He was seated next to Ginny, who was talking animatedly with her future sister-in-law about the plans for the wedding, which was to take place sooner than Harry had realized.

Ron, for his part, had decided to tune out the women's conversation in favor of a nap, hoping no doubt to awaken with significantly less of a headache. How on earth his friend could sleep while being constantly jostled was a mystery to Harry, but he made no comment, as it allowed him to think without interruption.

What on earth was to be made of Draco Malfoy. He was, without a doubt, glad for the other man's absence, but the reasons behind this relief were unknown to Harry and therefore the subject of his musings. He recalled his first impressions of the man: Handsome, arrogant, and completely out of place at an Assembly such as Dumbledore's. It was that aloofness that had caught Harry's attention in the first place, and he admired Malfoy. He had admired men in the past-Ron's brother Bill, for instance, and another blonde god named Cedric Diggory-but Harry had been loathe to acknowledge that these feelings might go beyond simple admiration, until he saw Malfoy.

Malfoy, whom Harry had admired in the billiards room for more than just his skill at billiards. Malfoy, who had had Ginny play a love song so he could study Harry's reaction to it. Malfoy, who had held Harry close while they waltzed in the Grand Ballroom after midnight. Malfoy, whom Harry had held close in return. It was this last admission that was problematic. It was one thing to be held, and Malfoy had taken the role as the pursuer from the very start, challenging Harry in all sorts of ways - but, it was another thing completely to pursue in return. At the billiards game, Harry had bravely challenged Malfoy back, only to have it turned on him, leaving him feeling foolish and surprisingly guilty. Malfoy seemed perfectly willing to follow through with the overtures made towards Harry, and his letter was proof of his experience in romantic trysts. Harry, on the other hand, was an innocent, who could only marvel at how the lithe form felt so right in his arms when he was obviously male and therefore their relationship was wrong, at least in the eyes of society.

Malfoy was not a pleasant man. He was charming when he wanted to be, but only if it suited his purposes. Harry had the suspicion that the charming exterior held a cynical and possibly mischievous personality. One could not enjoy the role of charmer as thoroughly as Malfoy did without a sense of humor. But side by side with this gentlemanly seducer was the antagonistic prat. The heated comments between Ron and Malfoy that day on the hills were enough to give Harry pause to the thought of connecting himself with Malfoy even through friendship. However incongruous it seemed to Harry that Malfoy could be so many different things to different people, it made sense. To Miss Weasley, and to some extent Miss Granger as well, Malfoy was the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. To Ron, he was all cunning and malice. To himself . . . Harry frowned. To himself, Malfoy was honest, even earnest, he realized. He fingered his coat pocket lightly where the letter was concealed. Although the honest declaration within spoke of the desire for understanding, it had seemed a letter of farewell. One last explanation, as there would be none forthcoming.

Harry stared out the window, his lips pursing lightly. Perhaps it was for the best that they had quarreled, if that was what the situation between them could be labeled. 'Quarreling' implied some kind of attachment, which they lacked, but their altercation had certainly aborted the likelihood of such an attachment in the future. He closed his eyes, remembering the way Malfoy had carefully cradled him as they tumbled down the embankment. If only he had not said such things about Ron, if only Harry had understood . . .

He leaned his head against the wall of the carriage. There was nothing to be done about it now, and that was final. Harry found himself shocked at the realization that he was relieved, as well as bereaved. It was unlike him to back away from a challenge, but perhaps Malfoy was too much of a challenge. He certainly seemed to think that Harry was no longer worth his energy.

The Burrow came into view, managing to look as always that it must certainly be held up by some magical force. Gnarled trees lining the walls of the garden, contrasting and complimenting the plethora of weeds and overgrown grass that grew by the large pond. When the carriages finally halted in the drive, the passengers tumbled out, greatly wearied and dusty from the road. The ladies swept inside to prepare the bedrooms and relax while the gentlemen were left to unload the carriages. Noticing the contemplative face of his friend, Ron pulled Harry aside for a moment.

"So, Harry?" Ron started, stretching his lanky form after being cramped inside the carriage for hours.

Harry looked up, tearing his mind from Draco, the letter, and Hermione's words. "What is it, Ron?"

Ron smiled slightly. "I know you've been thinking." He reached over and tapped his friend's forehead lightly with a finger. "You get all wrinkly up there and it your scar changes from being a wonky sort of 'S' to an even wonkier sort of 'N'." He grinned, as Harry self-consciously smoothed his brow. "So come on, then. Fess up. What's got you so serious?"

Harry glanced towards the garden and sighed, raking his fingers back through his hair. "Well, I don't know. I suppose it's about Ginny. . ." He tilted his head. In a way it was about Ginny... or at least the fact that, if someone like Malfoy even considered courting her, she was worth far more than someone like him. Draco was so handsome, rich, and charming. Harry was just... Harry. He was the honorary Weasley brother without any virtues of his own. He was not handsome, nor rich, nor particularly charming. As a child he'd found himself the subject of brutal teasing by his foster family's son, Dudley, and his friends. Regardless of Malfoy's encroachment, Harry felt that he could never truthfully ask for Ginny now, and how on earth could he disappoint his surrogate family by not going through with the engagement?

He looked back up with a heavy sigh, only to see Ron grinning at him maniacally. "What?" He asked suspiciously.

Ron just grinned, clapping Harry's shoulder lightly. "Mate, I've got to say... I'm so happy. It's the decision we've all been wanting to hear."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You're wondering how to propose to Ginny, aren't you?" Ron laughed. "Typical Potter. You know she'd accept you no matter how you did it, Harry." He grinned more broadly.

Harry stared dumbly, having lost the power of speech. How on earth was he going to postpone an engagement announcement now? Ron just smiled comfortingly, mistaking the source of Harry's shocked expression.

"Ah, I'm sorry, mate. You wanted to keep it a surprise?" Ron grinned, seeing the hopeful expression in the bright green eyes. "Well, tell you what, I solemnly swear not to hint anything to Ginny or Mother. All right?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast as relief flooded through his system. Ron chuckled, once again mistaking the source of the emotion. One phrase ensconced itself in Harry's jumble of thoughts.

Bloody hell.

Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor just past lunch the following day. His mother, Narcissa, was there to greet him.

"Draco, darling, so glad you're home at last."

He embraced her casually. "It is nice to see you as well, Mother." To his great surprise and utter dismay, Miss Parkinson was also at Malfoy Manor awaiting him.

"Mr. Malfoy. How wonderful to have the pleasure of your company once more," she said demurely, curtsying.

"How wonderful it is for you to stay with us." Draco forced his features into a smile, taking her hand. "I know it must have been a tiring journey for you as well, although one could never tell if had affected your beauty in any way." That much was true. Pansy looked remarkably like a pug no matter how she tried to flatter herself.

Pansy blinked as Draco smiled, then shrieked loudly. "Your teeth, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco blinked, then closed his mouth. He had forgotten the incident with the inked tea. Damn Pansy's eyes, and the Weasleys as well.

"Draco, dear, what on earth happened?" his mother asked, her nose wrinkling as if someone held something unpleasant beneath it.

"Nothing, mother. But perhaps I should excuse myself. I would not wish to shock Miss Parkinson's sensibilities by stained teeth," he answered dryly.

His mother frowned, but allowed him to leave, begging him to join them for dinner that evening. His father, thankfully, had been called to town on business. Draco didn't mind his absence in the least. Although he admired his father for his ruthlessness in most affairs, he wished he could have a bit more dispensation on his own behalf.

He ordered a hot bath and locked himself away in his rooms, changing from his dusty traveling clothes into a robe as he waited for his water. Long fingers brushed the delicate strands of hair from his eyes as he remembered Potter's smug look as Draco had left the large salon at Hogwarts. He ran his tongue delicately over his teeth, tasting the ink that stained them still. A smirk played over his features. As humiliating as the experience had been, at least the prank had proved useful in excusing him from polite company.

The water arrived and he stripped quickly, settling himself in the tub and eagerly, and liberally, applying soap to his skin. Potter's face invaded his mind. And worse, memories of the other man pressed against him, muscled and fleshed, as they rolled to the bottom of the hill. God. Potter laying on top of him. Draco groaned, rubbing furiously at the tired muscles of his body. Even innocent memories like the way Potter looked bent over a billiards table, or flushing like a schoolboy under Draco's gaze while Miss Weasley performed in the next room. The more he remembered his time with Harry, the harder he rubbed his skin, leaving large patches of red contrasting with pale cream.

His servant assisted him, dumping a pitcher of hot water over his shoulders and back. Draco closed his eyes as the suds were washed from his body. He remembered other things too. Potter's incredible innocence. His stupid bravery, challenging Draco to a billiards match. The warm emotion and confusion contained in those emerald orbs as Draco was pressed against him during their moonlit dance. Most of all, he recalled the resentment and utter hatred on his features that afternoon on the hill.

It was this last, painful memory, that had kept Draco behind his façade their last nights at Hogwarts. A Malfoy was not used to being contradicted, nor scorned. Draco dismissed his servant, rising out of the steaming tub to dry himself, pulling the thin cotton robe closer. A Malfoy was not used to being rejected by anyone, male or female. Power and reputation went beyond the bounds of scandal.

It was this complete inability to understand scorn that had led Draco to his confession in the letter he left for Potter. If Potter was determined to reject him, he would know damn well what he was rejecting. It was a desperate need for understanding that compelled Draco to write. But he knew, even as his quill scratched against the parchment, that Potter would not be swayed.

And that finality left Draco feeling shameful of his own lusts and overtures. He moved to the mirror, combing out his fine hair and studying his reflection. He had not Potter's expressive eyes, his own being rather too small to express anything but displeasure. His lips also were too thin, by his standards, and thinned considerably when he was upset, making his angular features look pinched. Lovers of his, all male, had called him 'delicate,' a thought which unnerved him. Potter, on the other hand, was the epitome of male strength.

He felt another stab of lust at the memory of the dark haired male, his knuckles going white as he gripped the comb painfully. There must be some release, Draco thought. "I will conquer this," he said, gritting his teeth. "I must conquer this."

The days at the Burrow passed lazily for Harry. The entire household was furiously preparing for the wedding, which was going to be held on July 1st. The announcement appeared in the papers and much to Harry's amusement, they mentioned Miss Granger's connection with the Malfoy family. He wondered vaguely if that was on Draco's insistence or Mrs. Weasley's. The pressure of marrying Ginny aside, he was content to spend his days in her company. Unfortunately, Ron gave him seemingly supportive grins that made him want to groan every time he spoke to Miss Weasley. He pretended to be oblivious to them.

A fortnight into his stay, he received a reply from Sirius and Remus. He excused himself from breakfast, eager to hear news from home.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you in excellent health at the Burrow. The Weasleys are so kind to let you stay with them. Send them our fondest wishes, especially towards Mister Ron Weasley and Miss Granger. I am sure the household is bustling with preparations. As for Godric's Hollow, things are quiet without your presence. Of course, they are generally quiet even with your presence. The servants all send their affections, accompanied by those of myself and Remus of course.

This Mr. Malfoy you write of seems to be one of those notorious snobs one occasionally encounters in the aristocracy. I myself have never met the family, but by your description, I pray I never have to. The gentleman is too proud, to be sure. I am sure you are happily parted from him. Perhaps you will be lucky to avoid his acquaintance in the future, with exception to the wedding itself, of course.

Please write when you have a moment, as Remus is dreadfully anxious for you. I myself, am sure that you are happy and never worry but for a moment. Enjoy your holiday, Harry. We shall be happily reunited in the fall.

Yours, etc.

Sirius Black

Harry folded the letter, musing. Happy indeed to be parted with Draco Malfoy, although he would return in less than a month. It was hard for Harry to believe that it had been two weeks already since they had parted company. It seemed at once to be two months and two days. Unconsciously, he drifted from the window of the parlor to the small pianoforte that Ginny used. Carefully plunking out a tune, he was startled to find himself playing the Mozart melody Ginny had performed at Draco's request.

His fingers stilled and he closed his eyes, remembering Ginny's sweet voice and the intense look on Malfoy's face as the pale eyes burned into his very soul. He opened his eyes again and looked out the window, his mind caught in memory.

Draco, eyeing him from across the billiards table, fine features lightened by a smile as Harry glared in his direction. The haunting appearance of the man as he played in the Grand Ballroom, late at night. The intensity in his eyes as he pulled Harry close to him in the Waltz, and the easy surrender as Harry took the lead. The dazed look on his face as they landed at the bottom of the hill, incredulous at Ron's accusations. Pride. Spite. Hate. The sickeningly superior smirk that had appeared, surprisingly cruel after so much kindness. Malfoy as Harry had last seen him, formal and stiff even with a childhood friend, the exterior as indifferent as a mask.

He placed his face against the cool glass, one arm against the wooden frame as he leaned. Happy indeed to be parted. But Hermione's words resonated within him. Harry believed wholeheartedly in her goodness, just as he believed wholeheartedly in Malfoy's arrogance. Was there more to Draco Malfoy? In the two weeks since their parting, Harry had been resolved to think no more of him, a resolution that he was frequently breaking.

"Mr. Potter?" Miss Weasley's voice called him from his thoughts and he straightened, turning around.

She smiled at him, blushing slightly at having interrupted his privacy. "Ron and I were going to walk towards town. My Aunt and Uncle have invited us for tea." She hesitated a moment before continuing, "Would you do us the honor of accompanying us? My brother wishes to acquaint you with our more distant relations."

The green eyes blinked, startled. Harry glowered internally at Ron. Damn the man. He was not going to make this easy on him. Well, it was time to tell Miss Weasley his true feelings.

"I'd be delighted, Miss Weasley." He carefully tucked the letter away as she turned to leave and halted her progress. "Would you stay for just a moment, Miss Weasley? There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

She blushed and closed the door to the parlor before moving towards him. "O-of course, Mr. Potter." Her eyes were bright and her voice was breathy at Harry's tone.

"I am honored by the connection between our families, Miss Weasley," he began slowly. "Your brother Ron is the dearest friend I have in the world, and I truly consider you all to be dearer to me than my actual relations." He smiled at her, taking her hand. "In situations such as these one is compelled to act under obligation. And although I am fond of you, Miss Weasley, I must decline. I am very sensible of the honor a connection between us would bestow upon me, but I cannot in good faith or conscious apply for such a connection."

He saw her blink, possibly attempting to fight an emotional response and act rationally. When Harry was about six, his cousin Dudley had made him watch while he tortured a chicken, ripping off it's limbs and head. The bird was still alive, and Harry had had nightmares about its shrieks as it was torn to pieces. Ginny's small sniffle and repression of emotion now made him feel very much like his cousin. "It is this relation between our families which makes me unable to tell this to Ron, or even your mother. You all have been so kind to me."

"T-thank you for your honesty, Mr. Potter." She retracted her hand and turned, stiffly, making her way to the door. "You can rest assured I will tell not a soul about this conversation." She gathered herself and left his company quickly.

Harry cursed himself. He was truly the lowest of the low, no better than his cousin, hurting an innocent creature like Miss Weasley. Turning again to the window, he sighed, praying that he would have the strength to see her look at him, her pretty brown eyes filled with hurt. The look on her face reminded him of the look on Draco's when Harry had insulted him. Harry sighed miserably.

It was going to be a long summer at the Burrow.