"But why him?" Ron groans. "Of all the blokes in the world, Harry, you chose him."
Harry doesn't know what to say. How to explain that it just... makes sense. That when Draco leaned in and kissed him (at a Muggle coffee shop after work, with a latte and a half-finished brownie in front of him) it felt like everything had been leading to this. Every insult, every curse, every look that lasted just a little too long.
Hermione sits next to Ron on the small navy sofa her parents bought them when they moved in together. She's been quiet since Harry told them, and that worries him more than all of Ron's complaints.
"He's not like he was," Harry says, again. "He really isn't. He lives in a Muggle flat."
"But it's still Malfoy. Besides anything else, he's a git! He's always been a git!"
He's still a bit of git, if Harry's being honest. He makes jokes at other people's expense and fears contradicting anyone in authority. But he also goes to see a Muggle film every Friday, watching with the enraptured attention of a child, and he makes Harry laugh with his uncannily accurate impressions of their boss, and he wanted to play Quidditch but was never good enough.
"I think," Hermione says finally, and Ron falls silent, "that if Harry says he's changed, he's changed."
"Really?" Harry says, sagging with relief.
"Really. How can we not trust your judgment when it comes to Malfoy? You were obsessed with him at school. Personally, I can't believe I didn't see this coming after all those hours spent following him around."
He blinks at her. She smirks. He can't stop the reluctant grin that spreads across his face as Ron roars with laughter.