Chapter 22

                                        

                                              
Published: 5/25/25
Aww my Monte...
Harry was so happy. Draco had finally understood. He had been running free for five years, and he hated being trapped. Now, he had the whole house and the telly to himself. He rolled around on the couch and ran to and from every room, checking out everything.
On Malfoy's desk, he read a letter from Blaise, Blaise Zabini, he assumed. Blaise asked about Draco's dog and hinted about visiting soon with Pansy. Blaise didn't talk about anything going on in the wizarding world. Harry managed to push his papers around, but a letter from Pansy was underneath. It was older, but talking more about her life going-ons more than anything else. Pansy seemed to be urging Draco to apply at her firm as an accountant. She promised that she could get him a job.
Harry whined, worried by her implication that Draco needed her divine assistance to get an entry-level job. He wondered if this was why Draco was living completely in the muggle world.
Harry jumped down and considered getting more food, but wasn't going to test his new freedom, yet. He opened the second bedroom door. Two twin beds were on either corner, and a wardrobe was on the wall by the door. He nudged the door open and saw a bunch of women's clothes and high heels. Muggle clothes, nice clothes. 
Harry was wondering if Malfoy was a cross dresser, until he saw that the wardrobe door had a mirror with pictures of Draco, Pansy and Blaise in Draco's house and what looked like muggle bars and clubs. Pansy had clothes here for emergencies or sleepovers. He pulled out the drawers, and there were some men's clothes in there, too. Black silk, and fancy parts and shoes. Zabini's stuff was here, too.
Harry pushed the drawers shut and closed the wardrobe door with his nose. He checked the beds out and discovered the windows weren't charmed. He could escape but Draco had only just given him his freedom, so he wouldn't risk it. Then he snooped in Draco's room. Draco had robes, but only a few. Most of his clothes were the work-kind, black slants and polo shirts. He had nicer clothes, too, as well as lounging clothes. A whole walk-in closet full of clothes. Above the racks were boxes Harry couldn't reach, and underneath were more shoes than Harry had ever owned times ten. Harry rolled his eyes. 
The loo revealed Draco had hair products for the next five years, surely. His nightstand drawers were locked by magic. Harry didn't remember Draco locking it, so it might be locked all the time. Draco's friends visited so he might have preemptively locked it away from prying eyes. Harry could guess. He had been a boy, a man once. It wasn't anything Harry had done or thought of in the last five years. 
He had refused to copulate with other dogs. There was just too much wrongness with that. It was a line he wasn't going to cross. He wasn't willing to be an animal that much. 
Harry looked down under the bed and found an old shoebox. It took some scratching and maneuvering, but he got it out. He carefully flipped the lid and found a picture of himself... his human self. Harry whined. He remembered when it was taken. The Battle. He was standing outside of the Great Hall, looking so broken as he surveilled the battlefield. His photographic self was resigned and sorrowful. So many died. He died. It was over, and he didn't know what to do. He still didn't.
Harry carefully used his nail to lift that photo, and underneath it was a clipping of the war trials.
"Scandal! Hero Harry Potter testifies for Marked Death Eater!" Draco kept the article. The public had been aghast when he chose to save Draco. They didn't care about the why. They didn't care that Draco was a terrified kid. They didn't care that he was held at wand point to obey a madman.
Harry whined again, thinking of the kind-hearted man who had saved a near-dead stray dog. Who paid to have him fixed up and took him home. The boy who still cries in his sleep and freaked out when he almost died. Harry didn't regret it for a second. He never had. He remembered how terrified Draco looked at the trial... how broken he was... how Draco thanked him for his comparatively light sentence.
Harry wasn't sure he should go deeper into the box. There were more photos, more clippings. He had meant a lot to Draco. The whole box seemed filled with stuff about him, but Harry let the clippings fall back into place. With difficulty, he flipped the box lid over and put it back on top. He nosed the box under the bed where it had been.
He looked at the box, wondering when Draco's obsession with him had started. First Year? Second? By fifth, it was definitely there. Harry knew it was forming for him by then and only solidified in their sixth. And now... Harry whined again, looking at the box. He remembered Draco's whispers in the dark about Harry saving him. That they had needed each other, and then he remembered how upset and sad Draco was when he had almost died a few days ago.
Harry loved him back. There was no doubt about it.
Harry walked back to the couch, jumped on and looked out the front window. This was his territory... his home now. Their home.
He was going to stay right here for the rest of his life and protect Draco.