Disclaimer: La. It's not mine.

Challenge #17

That incident which should never be mentioned causes some problems for our two favorite boys.



Draco was absolutely livid.

He had not moved into his apartment three days, and he was already searching for another. They were working on the building next door, fixing it up, and they had a deadline of two weeks. Thus, they were forced to work overtime, and late into the night.

And Draco had a problem.

He had to fall asleep before two in the morning. If he didn't, as he had done for the first seventeen years of his life because his father demanded it, his whole body clock would be skewed, and he absolutely couldn't fall to sleep for the life of him.

So now, as he sat back in his landlord's office, he was looking exactly like the Malfoy he was.

"I—want—them—to—stop," he growled. Never let it be said that there was something missing in his words; they were pure poetry, of course.

The landlord was fair-haired, with blue eyes that had crinkling at the corners. She was a crotchety old thing, when provoked, and yet she didn't seem to be a day over thirty. Draco, however, suspected she might have been born around 5th century B.C.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but we cannot make them stop. The building is dilapidated. If it is not fixed now, it will most likely fall over," she answered with an airy wave. "What would you rather? A few sleepless nights? Or not waking up one morning because you're under ten feet of rubble?"

"I don't care!" Draco hissed, leaning forward in his seat, eyes glistening menacingly. "All I want is some sleep! If you can't accommodate me, do I have to take my money elsewhere?"

The landlord mimicked him, also leaning closer. "Then do so, Mr. Malfoy. We have more than enough guests and permanent residents to keep us here at Sunbelt International to keep us for three lifetimes."

Draco's eyes flashed with anger, but he held his tongue as the woman settled back in her seat, smiling widely. "Excellent. Now, I believe some of your friends—Master Zabini, Mistress Parkinson and the like—also reside here. They have also complained of the noise, but I am sure you are aware that they have recently moved into their parent's houses for the time being. Why don't you take their example, Master Malfoy?"

Draco fumed silently. She was baiting him; she thought he was without friends, but he'd show her! Standing swiftly, he offered her his hand. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Swann, I'll be sure to take your advice. Have a good day."

As soon as she let go of it, Draco retracted his hand, spun on his heel, and marched out. It was time—to make a few house calls.

Hermione Granger-Weasley was not unused to having people call her without announcing themselves first. Especially with Harry, whom she had learned to keep a special eye out for. The boy tended to have more strife in his life than a porcupine had quills.

And yet she was still wholly surprised when Draco Malfoy jumped through her fireplace, looking furious and scaring all sensibility out of her poor little mind.



"Hermione," she prodded gently. "Call me Hermione. We're not in school."

He didn't answer.

Instead, he wandered over to her couch and sat down on it, looking infuriatingly handsome as he scowled at her Muggle memorabilia on the table. Hermione rolled her eyes and walked out of the room, returning not five minutes later with her wand hooked through her jean loops and two cuppas.

Draco eyed her appraisingly as she handed him his. "You've become polite. Congratulations, Granger, for learning some manners."

"And, obviously, you are still a spoilt brat." She patted his cheek and then settled down next to him. "But we all still love you anyways. Now, why are you here?"

"I'm sleeping here," Draco said bluntly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You most certainly are not! Draco, I'm married!"

"Does he even count as a man?"

"Draco," Hermione warned him. "Don't talk about Ron that way. And, in case you've forgotten, he and I have children."

"Eww…how could I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's been three years."

"I can hold a grudge."

"You're still upset about the time Karolin spit up all over your new robes?"

Draco scoffed, but then scratched at the couch. "My apartment is undergoing renovations. I need to sleep. Can you imagine me even more cranky than I am now?"

Hermione hid a shiver, and then considered it seriously. Of course Draco couldn't go and ask any of the Slytherins—most were upset with him for not fighting with his father on the Dark side, and others had their parents in the way. The bushy-haired witch pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail, all the while thinking up something.

"I know!" she exclaimed. "Go to Seamus'!"

Draco stared.

"Harry's, than?" Hermione offered coyly.

"To Seamus'!"

Approximately one hour's coaxing and cajoling later, Draco was standing outside of Seamus Finnegan's flat. Seamus, as he remembered, was one of the first to accept him as a part of the Light. Always light-hearted himself, Seamus would've been much more fun to be around had it not been for his—mental competence.

"Dray!" Seamus cried, as he opened the door.

Draco pretended not to notice the fact that Seamus seemed to have green lipstick smeared all over his face, and walked in. "Fine, and you?" he said caustically.

Seamus grinned lopsidedly, and subtly shut his bedroom door as they walked into his kitchen. Draco also pretended not to hear the giggles coming from inside of the room.

"I get it, I get it. How are you? Well, you've answered already, so let's get onto business. Why're you here?" Seamus' eyes took on a keener look. "Missed me already? I'm sure I could fit you into my—schedule…"

"Ireland just won, then?"

"Where have you been?" Seamus cried. "They beat back France last night! Watch the telly, Dray, watch it. Oh, wait, I forgot. You're frightened of Muggle things."

"I'm not frightened!" Draco said indignantly.

"Then why'd you run away screaming from my blender a couple of weeks ago?"

"We were not to mention that again. It never happened."

Seamus grinned again. "Ok, ok. So why are you here, really?"

A sudden shout from the room distracted them both. "Darling, I'm getting so annoyed. Hurry up now!"

"Just a second!" Seamus called back. "What was it you needed?" he asked again.

Draco blinked twice in quick succession. "Just wanted to say hello. See you later. Seamus. Bye!"

He nearly burned himself as he jumped into the fireplace and flooed to a random location, covering his ears as Seamus returned to his previous activities.

When Draco stepped out, he was coughing from the ashes that had been burning a neat little hole through his lungs. When he finally straightened up, he blinked, and then shot back inside of the fireplace, calling out something garbled.

Millicent Bulstrode blinked at the fireplace, shrugged, and then returned to snogging Vincent Crabbe.

When Draco's head finally stopped spinning, he stumbled out of the Floo highway, and into a living room he had not seen in ages.

Crimson and utterly spotless living room set with polished mahogany table, and a large entranceway with double-doors that were closed for the moment. Hanging over the doors was a large tapestry, depicting the ancestry of the owner of the house as far back as it could be traced.

"H—hello?" A voice called timidly. "Who be it?"

Draco had to smirk as he realized a house-elf had been cleaning when he flooed in, and it had been so surprised by his arrival it had tipped over backwards and was now peeking out from the top of the couch. As it recognized him, its eyes grew wide.

"Master Malfoy! Dobby has not seen you in long long time! Where is Master Malfoy hiding hisself?"

"Far away from here, apparently." Another voice joined in the conversation. Draco turned, and scowled darkly. Leaning against the doorway was Harry Potter, green eyes twinkling good-naturedly. Holding onto his hand was Luna Lovegood, who seemed to be as amused as he was by the whole thing. Behind her there was a sleek head of red hair, followed by ocher eyes. Dobby disappeared with a small pop!

"Taking care of your harem, Potter?" Draco drawled. Harry shook his head, and walked fully into the living room. Luna and Ginny followed shortly afterward, both smiling as though they'd been let in one some big secret, and seated themselves at the table.

"Ok," Draco groused. "I get it. I haven't been the nicest person to you—"

"—Damn straight—," Ginny interrupted.

"—But that doesn't mean you have to let go of all the values you people hold and do this to me!" Draco continued, ignoring her completely. Harry snorted at that, and when Draco shot him a glare, the former Gryffindor repented.

"Fine, fine. Blaise told Ginny what happened and she was stopping by here with Luna anyways now, so…" Ginny seemed immensely pleased with her boyfriend, and she grinned cheekily at Draco.

"He says he sends his love, luv."

Draco made a slicing motion with his hand.

"Real mature," Ginny retorted.

Harry and Luna shook their heads.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter—"

"Harry," Harry corrected him.

"Potter," Draco said smoothly. "I need a place to stay. Let me in?"

"I seem to remember something similar happening during our Hogwarts years," Luna said dreamily, as she scooted forward in her seat. Draco noticed the hat perched precariously on her head looked strangely like a panther, and that it was growling at her, but he said nothing. "Remember when the Slytherin dungeons were flooded?"



"Yes!" Ginny clapped her hands together, ignoring the upset men behind her. "And Draco stumped all the way up to the Gryffindor common rooms, and stood outside the Fat Lady's portrait—,"

"—Even though she yelled at him terribly," Luna added.

"Yes, but he did, and then when Harry came out he yelled that there was no way he was sleeping in water-logged rooms and pride be damned he would sleep in a warm bed tonight!"

"That was a wonderful speech, as I remember it." Draco said insistently. "It made all the Gryffindors shiver anyway."

"Yes, at what you were implying," Harry added. He cheerfully dug through his pockets for his wand, missing (or perhaps just ignoring) Draco's Death Glare, and snapped off a spell at the fireplace.

"There we go, Ginny, Luna. I expect Blaise will be waiting for you, Gin, and Luna, haven't you better check up on Fred? He might be burning something."

The girls laughed and moved into the hearth, waving good-bye to both men as they disappeared. Harry turned to Draco, green eyes shining with amusement.

"Now, what's this about needing a place to stay?"

Draco muttered to himself as he sat at one of the kitchen stools, sipping on a cuppa. It was nearly midnight, and he wasn't tired in the least bit, never mind the fact that Harry seemed to believe in making his guests stay in large rooms bereft on any sensible decoration.

Draco shivered.

I mean, who furnishes their guest bedrooms with a lion's head above the footboard? Oh. He's a Gryff.

Maybe it was the cuppa, or just the fact that Draco had been traumatized and turned down and sleepless enough to last him a lifetime that made him suddenly land on one choice. Swiftly, he stood and left his china on the table as he flicked off the lights and moved silently through the darkness.

To Harry's room, I go!

Harry Potter had been trained during the war to awaken at the slightest sound. If something got past his wards and managed to end up near him or in the bed, it was an enemy.

Which was why when he felt a tickling sensation on his neck, he didn't hesitate in drawing his wand and poking his opponent's throat while his eyes were still closed. "Who is it?" he whispered.

"Geez, Potter, you try to pay a guy a night call and he goes homicidal."

Harry opened one eye, and than rolled over. "Malfoy. Get back into your own bed. Let me sleep."


"Malfoy? Is that your hand in my hair?"


Harry sat up in bed, and glared through the dark at the shadowy finger leaning against his headboard. "Malfoy, leave!" he hissed, and then blushed. "And get your hands away from my face!"

"Your guest bedrooms are creepy, Potter. And whatever happened to just being called Draco?" The figure drawled.

"Die," Harry growled.

"Touchy in the mornings, aren't we?"

"It's only one!" Harry cried, exasperated. "Didn't we have this conversation already? Like, almost four years ago at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, and do you remember how that turned out?" Even in the dark Draco could see Harry's blush. "Gods, Potter, get over it. It was four years ago, right? Let's just get some sleep and I'll be gone."

"Why can't you sleep in your own bed again?"

"Potter, lie down and sleep before I have to hex you into it."

Harry snorted in disbelief, but he put his wand back under his pillow and flopped down onto the bed. "You're queer, Malfoy."

Draco snuffled softly into the pillow. "More than you'll ever know."

There was a pause, and then both of them laughed into their pillows.






One emerald eye peeked out blearily, and then closed. "Nnnnnnnnngh."

"Yes, well, exciting as this may be for me, I'd actually like to get out of this position now." Draco tapped lightly on Harry's head, and carefully attempted to get his appendages back, but Harry had a tight hold on him.

"Ok, fine!" The once-Slytherin said, frustrated. "I'll just—stay like this, is that what you want Potter?" He folded his arms over his chest crossly, and tired to imagine that he was safe in his warm, cozy apartment, sipping at a cup of tea and laughing as he watched Blaise flirt outrageously with Ginny, who just happened to be stepping out of Blaise's apartment more often than not most mornings.

…Not glowering at the ceiling as Harry Potter held onto him with one arm around the waist, and the other arm laced with the fingers of one of his hands.

"…hate you…" mumbled Draco.

"You too, luv." Harry murmured sleepily, and kissed the small of Draco's back. The blonde shivered, and then rolled his eyes. He stayed that way for all of ten minutes, motionless, until he decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Hey…Harry? Seeing as you're most likely dead to the world right now, there's something I've got to tell you. You listening?" There was nothing but a soft, slight snoring noise from behind him. "Ok, then. Perfect."

Draco shifted slightly, tapping his free fingers on his forehead as he spoke. "Er…you asked me once why I'm still single. That was—three months and two days ago. And don't say I'm counting, Potter, because I'm not."

"But the point was, it deeply unsettled me that you could notice something like that. You're blind! If you had noticed—even though it took you four years to do so—than who else had?"

Draco sighed. "So I did the only thing I could do. I went to Granger. And I sort of told her about everyone I'd ever thought remotely well of—her, for example. Did you know we kissed, once, under the mistletoe in sixth year? But then we both laughed it off because it just wouldn't have worked anyway. She had someone else waiting for her."

Draco swore he could hear Harry laughing a little, but in the silence that followed, there was no noise. "Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want Potter." He huffed, and then went on. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, Granger—wait, Hermione—said I'm still single because every single person I've dated, I've compared to someone. And because they aren't that person, I always ditch them."

Draco laughed softly, silver eyes glistening as he rubbed at his forehead. "What d'you think of that, Potter?"

"…Nngh. I think you talk too much."

Harry shook his head as he sat in Hermione and Ron's living room, across from his best friends. "He was so upset that I just let him prattle on about everything! You should have seen his face!"

Ron was chuckling. "Yeah, I guess I should've. Was it red?"

"Flushed with pleasure, or embarrassment?" Hermione inserted wickedly.

"This—," Harry said, gesturing, "This is why I don't visit here so often. There are so many—eurgh—memories floating around, and I'm afraid I might stumble upon one of them."

Hermione shook her head. "Please, Harry. Now, what are you planning to do about Draco? He's at Pansy's, now, last I heard."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "And I'm planning to kick him out as soon as possible."

"Why?" Ron snickered. "After what you did this morning—which, by the way sounds just like that time in seventh year—I would think you two would have shagged, already."

Harry stared.

Hermione stared.

Ron blinked.

"What? What?"

Harry kicked forlornly at the bedpost.

He was standing in the guest bedroom Draco should have been sleeping in, and was attempting to decide whether or not he should take down the awkward lion's head. He liked it.

Sighing, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, and then ran his fingers through his hair. Actually, he confessed to himself, he did believe that he was actually here to think about Draco.

What was it, exactly, that caused them to become friends? Hadn't it been around seventh year, during—Harry grimaced—that incident, where none of the Gryffindors had been willing to let Draco stay with them?

Harry—and he damned himself for his honor, even now—had finally relented and let Draco into the boy's dorms. When beds had also been refused, and it had been found out that all the cots in the castle were also used and no one could be bothered to conjure one up and Draco would absolutely die if he didn't sleep properly and no one could have that now…well, Harry had agreed to let Draco sleep in his bed.

Firstly, he'd set up a barrier charm.

Obviously, Harry sucked at these.

Sometime during the night it had slipped off, and Harry, in his tousled-ness-ness, had awoken to find Draco Malfoy hugging him tightly, both of their hands laced together. Harry had awoken Draco with a few well-placed words ("Fuck! Malfoy, that's my knee!") and they had had a heated and whispered argument.

By the time they'd run out of steam, apologies had been uttered, and due to the fact that no one was there to stop them, the tension had evolved into a different kind.

Harry blushed now even as he thought about it. He was still a flowery, white-robed and untouched dove-toting person, but they had nearly gotten there. And then they'd woken up the next morning just as Seamus pulled open the blinds and there had been catcalls and wolf whistles and all manners of animal sounds that made them feel animalistic and predatory. Embarrassed, neither had said a word about it.

But, Harry mused, he supposed it did pave the way for everything that followed afterward. Hermione's prodding to Draco to find out what happened, and then Draco and Seamus spending more time together (solely because Seamus was the only Gryffindor who would talk to him at first, and Draco was attempting to set Blaise up with his mysterious Gryff lover) and the eventual blowout when Blaise and Ginny got together. It was most likely the first time in nearly a hundred years since a Weasley and Malfoy had agreed on something. Slytherins did not date Gryffindors, and vice-versa.

But, as it so happened, they did sneak off to snog until their friends and family got used to the idea.

"What does that have to do with me and Malfoy?" Harry muttered aloud.

So he and Draco and talked a few times. So they'd attended parties together, concocted inside jokes, gotten a little too drunk together and emerged from all night pubs with numerous phone cards of girls (and sometimes guys) whose faces they couldn't ever remember, or their names. So what if everyone was practically expecting them to announce their engagement soon, even if they weren't even dating?

"I hate you, Draco Sodding Malfoy," Harry finally said.

"Nice to know it," Draco said as he passed by the doorway.

"Can I sleep in your room again tonight?" Draco asked, as they sat down to dinner. Dobby was pattering around, cleaning up the corners, but ears pricked up to listen.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me." Harry replied evenly.

"Well, I did this afternoon and even earlier on this morning. Can you just shut up and answer?" Draco said irritably.

"Can't do both. Pick one."

"How about dying, you sodding idiot?"

"Touchy," Harry smiled, and stood. "Come on, then. Be good."

"As if I'm not always."

Harry turned to look at him in disbelief, but Draco was already brushing past him, eyes glimmering wickedly.

The next morning, their position was somewhat more complicated, and as Harry cracked open an eyelid, he grinned groggily.

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe we should just find you a hotel."

Draco grunted and went back to running his fingers through Harry's hair.

Harry ran into Blaise the next day while he was in Diagon Alley. The ex-Slytherin was grinning widely as he pumped Harry's hand up and down.

"So, how's it been? Three days with him. I'm surprised one of you isn't dead yet—or both of you thoroughly pleased with each other."

"You're sick, Zabini."

Blaise just winked.

"He said what?" Draco groused. "I can't believe him. Blaise has always been so eccentric, it's a wonder he and Finnegan didn't get together."

Harry laughed as he took the ice cream cones he had been handed, and gave one to Draco. "Well, had it not been for the fact that Ginny was more voluptuous, in Blaise's words, I do think they would have."

Draco eyed the cone suspiciously. "Are you sure this thing's alright?"

Harry shrugged, and licked at his. "Strawberry can never hurt. And you have vanilla, geez. Do you think maybe we should set Blaise ablaze?"

"Tried it in fifth year. Didn't work, although most of his hair for that year was fake." Draco was still acting warily around the ice cream. Harry sighed, and leaned over, biting off a chunk of the ice cream and shivering a little.

"See? It's fine! Come on, eat it, or else I'm not letting you back in."

Draco stared at him, and then at the ice cream. "Potter, you infinitesimal pain in my arse, you threatened me to come out here and now you're threatening to make me eat or I won't be allowed to sleep?"

Harry ignored him and licked his cone, pondering aloud. "Hmm…we could always tell Ginny to stay away from his apartment. Not likely to work, though."

Draco glowered at him, and then swiped his cone across Harry's cheek. The black-haired boy yelped in surprise, dropping his cone as a hand came up to dab lightly at his cheek. Draco laughed, and Harry glared.

"What's wrong with you, Malfoy, geez!" He looked around, patting his pockets. "And I don't even have a napkin to wipe it off."

Draco arched an eyebrow wickedly. "Fine, then. Let me do the honors." He grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled the other man closer to him, and licked his cheek. Harry stiffened, and Draco took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the last smudges off.

"You had one with you this whole time?" Harry said faintly.

Draco shrugged. "Where would the fun be if I told you?" He held out his cone, taking a devious lick from it in the process.

"Wanna share?"

Draco was furious.

Not only had he been dragged to this, this puerile and crap excuse for a fun time (or so he had yelled at Harry) but he was being forced to participate in it too!

"Draco…just watch the movie and get it over with!" Harry whispered. In the darkened theater, he could see the blonde's stiff posture. "Here, I know you liked popcorn last time I saw you try it. I've got a huge bucket—,"

But Draco could not be moved. He resolved that he would sit here until the end of time, never once looking at the movie screen, despite the fact that the figures on there really did look just a little bit interesting and he had always wondered what it was like to see a Muggle movie, and the fact that he could smell the popcorn. But no, nothing Harry did could ever make him enjoy this—

"—With butter inside."

Twenty minutes later, Draco was squinting up at the screen like all the other moviegoers with rapt attention. His knees were pulled up to his chest as he let a hand snake out, reaching for more popcorn, and it brushed against Harry's as the other man got a handful. Draco's hand felt around, and then he turned and glared.

"Potter!" he hissed. "Where's the food?"

"Sorry," Harry said, still looking at the screen. "I think I got the last handful." And he popped it into his mouth. "We can get some after the movie, ok?"

But Draco was not to be so easily brushed off! His hand shot out, and he forced Harry to meet his eyes, guiding the man with a hand on his chin.

"Potter," Draco breathed, forgetting for a moment why he was mad. "Why is it you're so damn distracting?" he asked finally.

Harry didn't answer—in words anyway. Instead he leaned closer, eyes sparkling in the dim light. One hand reached up to stroke Draco's cheek softly, and than dropped down as suddenly as it had came. Harry turned back to the movie, and after a moment Draco followed.

The movie ended an hour later, and as they walked out neither of them said a word about it.

"Hermione," Harry said finally. "He's driving me crazy! He keeps on—doing these things! Like the ice cream, and at the movies—"

"Wasn't that you?" Hermione interrupted. She was balancing her youngest, Molly, on her hip as she listened to Harry. "Listen, Harry, you're my best friend, but I can't help but think you're going about this in the wrong way. Here's a hint. Go talk to him about it. He's at Pansy's again."

Harry stared at her, and then grinned. "You know I love you Hermione, right?"

Hermione smiled. "Doesn't everyone?"

They laughed, and then the bushy-haired witch held up a hand.

"Wait. Don't tell Ron that."

As Harry stepped into the parlor of the Parkinson manner, the first thing he noticed was that it was bereft of all the things he had expected to see in a pureblood's house. Instead, the walls had a few sneering portraits, but some that didn't move as well. The fireplace was made of white marble, and cushiony black furniture that made him want to sit down.

"Ah, what have we here?" Pansy Parkinson walked in, with a light pink house-elf trailing behind her. "Toddles informed me I had a visitor, but I never expected such a prominent one."

"Hello, Pansy." Harry said, unable to keep a smile off his face. "Sorry I haven't stopped by since—er…how long?"

"Two years, you naughty boy," Pansy giggled. "And if you're looking for Draco, he's been complaining to me about you in one of my rooms for ages. Go on, I was just going to teach Toddles how to make a proper tea, anyways."

Harry nodded his thanks, and was halfway up the stairs before Pansy called out to him. "And be quick about whatever it is you'll be doing! My parents will be home in about three hours!"

Harry blushed.

When he walked into what seemed like that twentieth bedroom there, he finally found Draco, seated on the bed, eyes wandering across a book that was undoubtedly Pansy's diary.

"'Lo, Harry," he muttered, never once looking up.

Harry decided to shrug this off, and walked over to the bed, sitting on it hesitatingly. "Er…I just wanted to say—"

"I know exactly what you want to say."

Harry blinked. "You—do?"

"Yes. Pansy is my equivalent of a Granger, you know. She says we both want to shag each other until we can't see straight, and then we'll shag some more, albeit blindly."

Harry blushed. "Nice way to put it," he muttered. "Do you think she's right?"

Draco carefully shut the book, tapping it with his wand so that its invisibility charm was replaced on it. He slipped it under the pillow, and turned back to Harry, expression unreadable. "What do you think?"

Harry showed him.

Draco marched into his landlord's office, although the way some people looked at it (namely Blaise) he was skipping. He fell into the chair gracefully, and fixed his landlord with an intense stare.

She looked at him in surprise. "Mr. Malfoy? Back already?" her expression began to change into a smug one, but Draco held up a hand.

"For the last time, m'dear." At her shocked look, he elaborated. "I am moving in with someone else, and I've just stopped by to pay my last month's rent and to get my things."

"W—w—who?" was all she could get out.

Draco winked—WINKED—at her, and stood. "That's for me to know, and you to eventually find out." And he walked calmly out of the room.

His landlord keeled over in shock.

Later that night, Draco slipped into Harry's bed once more. This time, though, something was different, and acknowledged. As Draco ran his hands through the jet-black shock of hair in front of him, Harry sighed.

"Maybe we're just stupid."

Draco's eyes lowered to meet the emerald green ones. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. They stayed that way in silence for a moment, before Draco spoke again.

"Do you not want this?"

Harry was quick to reassure him he did. When they broke away, Harry grinned a little sheepishly. "It's just—it took us so long. And I'm starting to wonder what our stubborn streaks are going to do to us in the near future."

"That's not so far away," Draco murmured, letting his head nestle in the crook of Harry's neck. "But we don't have to worry. We didn't before; why start now?"

"Because now we're together. Now there's no Dark Lord out to get me. Now you're not being harangued by your father; your mother's enjoying her life with Severus down in Italy, and we've got virtually no financial problems at all. We both get bored very easily. So I ask again, what now?"

Draco rolled his eyes, and began to lay soft butterfly kisses down Harry's neck and jaw line. "Right now, I say we do get a little naughty."

"If that's all you ever think about—"

"It's not," Draco said, capturing Harry's lips in a sweet kiss. "But we can pretend I do, if you want." A thought crossed his mind, and he looked askance at Harry. "I bet you planned this, you know. Putting the lion's head in my room so I would sleep with you. You sneaky, conniving little devil. You're just lucky I like you."

Harry shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're really immature. I bet you can't sleep unless someone sleeps with you."

Draco grinned wolfishly. "That'll be you, then."

But they didn't sleep. They did much, much more than.

And then they slept.