分卷阅读46（1 / 2）

“I think I love it.” Harry breathes out, running his fingers over the smooth oak mantle above the fireplace before pushing away and circling through the rest of the rooms—the dining room with the big overhead skylight, the two bedrooms upstairs, the winding stair case and the tiny kitchen, finally pushing through the screen door and standing out on the porch, facing towards the Burrow with a big grin on his face.

Draco gives him a mont, and then follows. He doesn’t have to say anything, because the screen doors squeals and squeaks, announcing his presence. It was the only door, at the mont. Draco had thought that would make Harry feel better, the knowledge that soone could not sneak in without so real effort.

“There are more buildings that e with the property, if you want to look at them.” Draco waves his hand to enpass the area behind them, towards the cellar and the shed and greenhouse, apparently everything that one could need for proper country life. It isn’t really his style, but Draco could get used to it. Was already getting used to it, if he was being honest. “Or we could just let them go, tear them down, it doesn’t matter once we buy them.”

He does not think twice about the we. If this is where Harry wanted, it was where Draco would go.

“I don’t have to look, I already know it’s perfect,” Harry says, and it could have been perfect for Draco, too, if he would have just stopped talking. “Of course, you have to look at places, too. We need to find soplace that you want to be at,” and suddenly, Draco could not breathe, because the idea of going sowhere that Harry was not was not in the plans.

But plans change.

Draco should be used to that by now.

“Right,” He says, and the smile does not even slip from his face, that is how good he has bee at pretending. “Of course.”

The words follow him through the afternoon and most of the night, until Harry was gone to bed to catch up on missed sleep and Draco finds himself alone in front of the fire place, watching the flas leap and whither, wishing he wasn’t so much of a coward, wishing he could go up and crawl into bed beside him without second guessing his place there, just this once.

There was a picture of the two of them on the mantle, arms wrapped around each other, right in between all the other pictures of people that Harry had deed important—of Harry and Ron and Hermione, family pictures of the Weasleys, his mother, his father, Remus and Tonks, a bunch of baby Teddy, even so of a man that Draco now knows to be Sirius Black, back when he was young and the dentors had not yet found their way to him. Back before he was ruined.

That was his picture. And over there, on the bookshelf, were his books. And on the table beside him was his favorite mug, and a blanket Hermione had knitted him was thrown over the chair, and there, even, back by the hallway was an old sweater thrown over a pair of shoes that he had abandoned. Pieces of him were everywhere. He belonged here. He lived here. This, here, with Harry, was his ho.

He didn’t an it like you’re thinking, Draco thinks, trying to calm himself down, thinking that he really should just go up and lay down with Harry just so he could quiet the doubt creeping up inside him. How could he? You’re together, always, he said so.

It makes sense, what he’s telling himself, but so does the doubt.

They go back to the cottage the next day, this ti with an agent, who has them talk about it one last ti to make sure that they are certain that this is the place for them (she’s a little miffed, Draco thinks, that she has two extrely wealthy clients right in front of her and this is what they end up buying) and shows them where to sign. Quill in hand, Harry looks happier than he had in a while, like he is finally being freed.

“There.” He dots his initials down on the very last line and smiles up at Draco, ignoring the realtor and her attempts to dissuade him one more ti, show him a few of the mansions and town houses, still not getting this man and his sentint. “All good, yeah?”

All good, is what Draco wants to say, but the words cannot quite clear his throat because they do not seem all that true, because to really be all good he would have to ask Harry the question that has been burning up, he would have to know for sure that he had a place here.

“Perfect, Harry.” Draco reaches out to take his hand and Harry lets him, stands up to et him for a kiss, the first kiss in this new house, realtor be damned. “Absolutely perfect.”

They spend a lot of ti in the house that day, bing through it, checking what needs to be done and what can stay, deciding how many of their things from Grimmauld Place should e with them.