Draco let out a loud huff and gave up on his search for a particular Arithmancy text; every single blessed copy was gone.
"Bloody Ravenclaws," he muttered to himself. And Granger, too, he added silently. They were like a plague of damn locusts where textbooks were concerned.
Returning to his desk, which was already groaning under the weight of numerous bulky tomes, he sank into his chair and reached for a quill.
Very soon he was lost in his work. For as much as he scoffed at Hermione's bookworm tendencies, Draco really wasn't much better himself. All of which went some way to explaining his irritation at being interrupted.
There was a thud, as a large stack of books was dumped on the edge of his desk. Looking up, a scowl firmly in place, Draco found himself faced with the aforementioned bookworm, who was wearing a particularly purposeful look on her face.
"We need to talk," Hermione stated firmly, forgoing the usual pleasantries.
Draco's annoyance at being interrupted was further compounded by the sight of the longed-for Arithmancy text, perched atop the pile of books. Sliding his hand casually across the desk, Draco wondered if he could remove it without the Head Girl noticing.
"About what?" he enquired, trying to maintain eye contact.
Hermione was not to be fooled. Just as Draco's fingertips grazed the leather bindings, he received a sharp slap for his troubles.
"Hands off!" Draco swore afterwards that Hermione had actually growled.
"And pay attention."
Draco swiftly retracted his chastised hand and pouted slightly. "That hurt," he whinged.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That may work with Harry, but you're wasting your efforts on me."
Draco shrugged; it had been worth a try. "So, what was it you wanted to discuss so urgently?" he asked, reluctantly pushing his neglected work to one side.
Hermione cast her eyes warily around the nearby tables. Relations between the houses had taken great leaps forward that year, but the sight of the two of them, willingly conversing, was still garnering more attention than she liked.
Typical wizards, Hermione thought. They can handle Malfoy shagging Harry, but God forbid he should talk to a mudblood.
Discreetly producing her wand, she quietly murmured, "Muffliato."
But not quietly enough, it seemed.
"Hey!" Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "That's a Slytherin spell. Who the hell taught you that?"
Safely stowing her wand away, Hermione sat back in her chair, a smug smile of her face. "Actually, it's a Snape spell. He invented it."
Draco fairly gasped in shock. "But that's…Actually, never mind," he muttered, swiftly regaining his composure. "What is it you want to discuss?"
The smile faded quickly from Hermione's face. She leant forward in her chair, wearing a serious expression. "Ginny," she said shortly.
Draco's eyes narrowed at the mention of the redhead's name. "What about her?" he asked sharply. "What's she done now?"
"Nothing," Hermione replied. "And that's what worries me."
"You don't think that could just be the result of her mother's rather spectacular Howler?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't. Maybe for a few days, but it's been over two weeks. I know Ginny, there's no way that was enough to stop her. She was, is, obsessed with Harry. She has been for years, but this year something changed. She's been so intense, and it's going to take more than a verbal slap off Mrs Weasley to get her under control again."
Draco nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Not that I don't appreciate the insight, but why are you tell me this, exactly?"
"Because it's not over. I've been watching her closely for the last few weeks, her and Wayne, and they're planning something. I can't prove it, and I'm not sure what it is, but I know I'm right. And I can't talk about it with Ron, because she's still his sister, and Harry just clams up whenever her name is mentioned."
"I see," Draco commented. "So what is it you want me to do? Confront them? Warn them off?"
Hermione shook her head resolutely. "No. Definitely not. That would only make things worse. Ginny's not rational right now, and that could just tip her over the edge."
Draco frowned. "I don't see what I can do then."
"Just be aware of it," Hermione answered. "Ginny's never taken too kindly to not getting her own way; she'll be out for revenge."
"Revenge for what? Harry being gay? That's just ridiculous. She can't possibly blame him for that."
Hermione smiled sadly at this. "I don't think she does. I think she blames you."
Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "For what? Making him gay? Do you even realise how ludicrous that sounds?"
"I know," Hermione agreed. "But I think we can both agree that Ginny passed common sense quite some time ago.
"I suppose," Draco admitted slowly. "If you're that worried, though, why don't you go to McGonagall?"
Hermione frowned slightly. "I did think about reporting her, but I don't really have any proof. My gut instinct isn't exactly enough evidence for Professor McGonagall to act on. Besides, I'm worried about the effect it would have on her parents. The last thing they need right now is more stress. I don't think either one of them has come to terms with losing Fred yet."
Draco nodded. "So what can we do, then?"
"Just keep your eyes open," Hermione advised. "And don't dismiss the threat she poses. Ginny's already proved what she's capable of doing, and I'm sure that Wayne is just egging her on."
"But what does he get from all this?" Draco wondered. "I mean, I understand what she's after, but why would Hopkins want to help his girlfriend pursue her obsession with another man?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "I've been wondering that myself. They don't seem to have a normal relationship. They can't do. Watching them recently, well, I think that maybe they're just…"
"Fuck buddies?" Draco finished, putting into words what Hermione was clearly reluctant to say.
She flushed slightly but nodded. "I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes, something like that. I half suspect that she's doing something similar with Dennis Creevey."
"Creevey?" Draco spluttered. "Isn't he a lot younger?"
"Two years," Hermione replied. "He's obviously got a huge crush on her, and Ginny's taking advantage of it. I'm sure that she's manipulated him into helping in her schemes, and then leads him on just to keep him on side."
"She's one twisted little bitch," Draco observed.
"She needs help," Hermione countered, though a small part of her secretly agreed.
"I'll keep my eye on her," Draco said carefully. "But if she does anything else to hurt Harry, then I won't be held responsible for my actions."
Hermione nodded sadly; she honestly hadn't expected anything else. "You really care about Harry, don't you?"
Draco fixed her with a glare that clearly showed his contempt for the question. "Of course I do," he snapped. "I love him."
Hermione's eyes widened at this revelation, and from the similar expression on Draco's face, it was plain that he had not intended to make such a confession.
"I didn't mean any offence by it," she clarified hastily. "It's just…the truth is, Draco, when you and Harry became friends, I had my suspicions about you. Even after the truth came out, I was still a bit wary."
Draco sat forward in his chair, protests on the tip of his tongue.
Hermione shook her head. "Just let me finish, please?"
Draco gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, before leaning back in his seat and motioning for her to continue with a wave of his hand.
"I love Harry like a brother," Hermione continued. "We've been through so much together over the years. But this year things have been different. Harry began pulling away from us. I knew it wasn't really to do with you; it started before that. But it was easier to blame you than it was to look for the real cause."
Draco smiled wryly. "So I was a convenient scapegoat?"
"Pretty much," Hermione said shamefacedly. "I'm not proud of it. I think we were just so wrapped up in our own lives, our own problems, that Ron and I didn't see how much Harry was hurting."
Hermione paused here and gazed at Draco shrewdly. "Harry was depressed. I can see that now. And I'm fairly sure that there's more to it than he's telling."
"I really don't think-"
"I'm not asking you to break any confidences," Hermione interrupted. "And I'm not prying. Merlin knows I've learnt the hard way, over the years, how Harry reacts to that. I'm just saying that I know things were bad for him this last year. Yet when I look at him now, I don't think I've ever seen him happier.
And if you're only even partly responsible for that, then I'm more grateful than I know how to say. I'm not afraid to admit when I'm wrong, and I definitely was about you. You're clearly good for Harry, and I apologise for doubting you."
Draco simply sat in his chair and gaped at the Head Girl. Never in his life had he expected to hear those words. He racked his brain desperately, searching for something appropriate to say. Coming up black every time, he settled for a heartfelt, "thank you."
Whilst Draco was busy making inroads into his NEWT revision, Harry was making his way, with trepidation, towards the Headmistress's office. A quick check of his recent memory could supply him with no misdemeanour that would account for the summons.
Harry only hoped that it wouldn't be another uncomfortable conversation regarding his mental well being; it was excruciating enough having to discuss such things with his Psych Healer, without his Headmistress getting in on the act.
He knocked softy upon arrival, and was promptly bade enter. Professor McGonagall was seated behind the large desk, a welcoming smile on her face.
She waved Harry towards a vacant chair and then leant forwards in her seat, her keen gaze causing him to shift uncomfortably.
"Good afternoon, Mr Potter. I'm sure you are very curious as to why I've asked to see you." She paused here and Harry nodded.
"A little, yes."
Professor McGonagall smiled slightly. "Don't look so worried. You aren't in any trouble, or at least none that I am aware of."
Harry returned her smile and clamped down on the urge to tell his Headmistress to get to the damn point.
"I won't keep you in suspense any longer," she continued, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "As I'm sure you are aware, there is a very important anniversary coming up."
It took Harry a few moments to grasp to what she was referring. As he listened to her continuing explanation, Harry felt the tightening of panic begin to squeeze at his chest. Professor McGonagall had managed to hit on the one topic, his own health not withstanding, that Harry would rather pull teeth than discuss.
Then, Harry realised that she was looking at him expectantly. Clearly waiting for the answer to some question that he had completely missed.
"So what do you think?" she prodded.
Harry flushed slightly and shifted in his chair. "Um…I don't…Could you repeat the question?"
"There is to be a day of remembrance announced for the anniversary of the final battle," Professor McGonagall explained patiently. "There will be a ceremony held in the grounds here, with the unveiling of a memorial also. The Minister thought it might be appropriate for you to say a few words."
Harry blanched as the full horror of what was being asked hit him. The very idea of giving a speech, especially on such a solemn occasion, made him want to run for the nearest toilet.
"No!" It came out a little more forceful than he had intended. "I'm sorry, but there's just no way. I can't."
"I understand that it is a sensitive issue, Mr Potter, but I really think you should give this some consideration. You were a prominent figurehead during the war; people looked to you then for hope, and the Minister feels it would be a boost for morale if you gave a short speech."
Harry's hands gripped so tight at the arms of his chair that his knuckles turned white. It took every ounce of his self-control to rein in his temper. Once again, he was being asked to sacrifice his own wants for the greater good. He had rather hoped that that would end with the defeat of Voldemort, but it seemed not.
"It shouldn't be about me," he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "I didn't do anymore than any other member of the Order. I don't want people to look up to me."
"But the fact remains that they do," Professor McGonagall said softly.
"Well they shouldn't," Harry bit back. "I'm sick of being some kind of glorified saviour. I did what was expected, what I had to do, because I didn't have a choice. Why can't they just leave me alone?" His voice died to almost a whisper with his last words, and even the hard faced Headmistress felt a pang of guilt.
"No one is going to force you to do this. Kingsley simply thought it might be a nice gesture. Many people close to you sacrificed their lives for this fight; I believe he thought you might like a chance to honour them."
Harry winced slightly and felt the urge to hex her for that comment. Put like that, he could hardly say no.
"I'd be no good," he muttered mulishly. "I wouldn't have a clue what to say. Hermione would be much better at it than me."
"Be that as it may, Miss Granger is not the Boy Who Lived. I know how you dislike that title, but the fact remains that there is a certain status and power that comes with it."
Harry shifted uneasily. "I don't want power."
"I'm sure you don't," Professor McGonagall agreed. "All the more reason that it is better placed in your hands. People will listen to you, Harry. This could be a chance to heal some of the breaches in wizarding society. Your example has led to greater unity in this school, why not spread that influence to the wider populace?"
"I don't know," Harry mumbled, already feeling his resolve crumbling. "I need to talk to…I need to think about it for a while."
"Take as much time as you need to decide. Discuss it with your friends, and Mr Malfoy. See what they think."
Harry nodded his agreement, before easing out of the chair and taking his leave.
Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair and watched him leave with a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Harry will make the right decision, Minerva. Don't worry."
Startled from her reverie, Professor McGonagall turned to meet the twinkling gaze of Dumbledore's portrait.
"You think he'll agree?" she enquired.
"Of course he'll do it," a scathing voice put in. "The boy never could resist attention."
"Oh, do shut up, Severus." The Headmistress aimed her wand at the sneering portrait of her predecessor and cast an efficient Silencing Charm.
Turning back to her old mentor, they shared a hearty chuckle at the outraged expression on Snape's face.
After leaving the Headmistress's office, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for lunch. He hadn't seen Draco since breakfast, and it was embarrassing just how much he missed his boyfriend when they were apart, even for such a short period of time.
The vast majority of the school were already in residence when Harry entered the Hall. He headed straight for the Slytherin table; it was such a regular occurrence by now that no one batted an eyelid.
Honing in on the shining blond head that gave away Draco's location, Harry was more than a little surprised to see a shock of red hair amongst the snakes.
Sliding into the vacant seat at his boyfriend's side, Harry leant in and gave Draco a quick peck on the cheek, before turning a grin on his best friend.
"Did you get lost, Ron?" he teased.
A rather large mouthful of food prevented Ron from answering, but he brandished his fork in Hermione's direction by way of explanation.
"Honestly, Ron." Hermione huffed as she removed mashed potato from her sleeve. "You have the table manners of a troll. Stop showing me up."
Draco smiled approvingly at her; he had been biting his tongue over Weasley's eating habits for too long.
Pansy simply chuckled. "Don't worry about it," she replied. "When you've sat at the same table as Crabbe and Goyle for six years, even trolls look elegant."
"Where've you been, Harry?" Ron said finally, after managing at last to swallow. "I thought we were gonna play chess this morning."
Harry began loading his plate and smiled over at his friend. "I didn't feel like being humiliated before lunch."
"You're not that bad," Ron commented, busy spearing another sausage.
Draco snorted. "I thought you Gryffindors were meant to be honest?"
Harry gave his boyfriend a playful dig, before turning his attention to Ron's earlier question. "I had to go see McGonagall."
"You're not in trouble, are you?" Hermione asked, a small frown of concern creasing her brow.
Harry shook his head. "No, she just wanted to ask me something."
He then turned his attention back to his meal, and began loading another forkful of mash. As he raised it to his mouth, Harry noticed several inquisitive gazes were fixed on him. "What?" he demanded.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "What did she want to see you about?" she asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice.
"Bit nosey, aren't you?" Harry teased.
Hermione flushed slightly, but stuck out her chin defiantly. "I prefer to think of it as concerned."
"C'mon, Harry," Ron added. "Spill."
There was a moment's silence as Harry gazed at his friends thoughtfully. He'd had every intention of discussing this with them, but had rather been hoping for a slightly less public setting.
"Kingsley's organising some kind of ceremony to mark the anniversary of the final battle," he explained finally.
"What? Here?" Ron questioned.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. They're going to put up a monument as well, I think."
"Like a Muggle war memorial?" Hermione asked.
Harry shrugged. "I guess. I didn't really ask."
"I think that's a really good idea," Hermione said approvingly. "People shouldn't be allowed to forget what happened."
"So why did McGonagall want you? They want you to unveil it, or something?" Ron joked.
Harry coloured. "They want me to make a speech," he muttered, glaring warningly at his friends, just in case they were inclined to tease.
To his surprise, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed shocked by this news.
"Makes sense," Ron commented.
"Of course it does," Hermione agreed. "I'll help you work out what to say, if you like?"
"You think I should do it then?" Harry asked.
"Why wouldn't you?" Ron asked, a genuinely puzzled expression on his face. "Who else would they get to do it?"
Harry shrugged again. "Kingsley could do it, or McGonagall, or anyone from the Order. I don't see why it has to be me."
"You said no?" Hermione's eyes widened incredulously.
"Not exactly. I did to start with, but I told her that I'd think about it."
As he paused here, it occurred to Harry that Draco had yet to voice his opinion. Both he and Pansy had remained silent since the topic had been raised. He gave his boyfriend a gentle nudge with his elbow.
"What do you think?"
Draco dragged his gaze up to meet Harry's. "About what?" he asked, distractedly.
Harry rolled his eyes. "About whether I should do this speech, or not."
Draco's expression remained impassive and he gave a slight shrug. "I think it's up to you," he replied softly. "I'll support whatever you decide."
As he sat down to dinner with his friends later that day, Harry found it hard to tear his gaze away from the Slytherin table.
Draco had been quiet and withdrawn all afternoon, and no amount of coaxing or teasing would persuade him to reveal the source of his melancholy. Pansy clearly knew, if her squabbles with Draco were anything to go by, but she, too, had been a little reserved that afternoon, and had steadfastly refused to reveal the reason behind Draco's introspection.
This, on top of the worries over Professor McGonagall's earlier request, had Harry feeling very grateful that he had a visit with his Psych Healer coming up in the next couple of days.
However difficult he found it to verbalise his problems, Harry couldn't deny the release he felt following one of his sessions.
Harry didn't have time to dwell on such thoughts just then, though. Draco had excused himself from the Slytherin table, and was heading, alone, towards the exit.
Muttering something unintelligible to his friends, Harry was up and out of his seat in a heartbeat. Pausing only to acknowledge Pansy's wink with a brief nod, he headed purposefully after his boyfriend.
A quick burst of speed, and Harry drew level with Draco. He slid his arm through his boyfriend's and gave a gentle tug.
Draco looked up in surprise. "Where to?"
"You'll see," Harry replied vaguely.
Draco allowed himself to be led in the direction of the main staircase, before raising a protest. "I'm really not in the mood for a room full of Gryffindors tonight."
Harry paused for a moment, smiling softly at him. "We're not going there, I promise." He finished up by pressing a tender kiss to Draco's temple.
Somewhat placated, Draco followed his boyfriend without further protest, all the way to the third floor, until they came to a halt outside the Prefect's bathroom. When Harry pushed the door open, Draco could see that the room was softly lit by dozens of flickering candles.
"This looks familiar," he commented, a smile curving the edges of his mouth.
"Brings back good memories," Harry agreed, pulling Draco into the room and securely locking the door.
The enormous bath was already full to the brim with steaming hot water, and fluffy peaks of bubbles covered the surface.
As Harry reached out and began unbuttoning Draco's shirt, his boyfriend smirked at him. "Are you trying to seduce me, Potter?"
Harry grinned in return. "That depends. Is it working?" he teased.
Draco smirked at him slightly. "Keep going," he said loftily. "I'll let you know when you're successful."
Harry returned to the task at hand, and pretty soon both boys had shed their clothing and slipped into the hot, velvety-soft water.
Harry let out a satisfied sigh as he felt the tiredness of the day soak from his aching muscles; Quidditch practice had been particularly tough that evening. He reached out with one arm and snagged Draco around the waist, tugging his boyfriend towards him, until he was nestled between Harry's parted thighs.
Strong hands coaxed Draco backwards, until he was lying flush against Harry's toned chest.
"You're so tense," Harry commented, his hands skimming over Draco's shoulders.
Draco shrugged. "I guess."
"Lean forward a little, and I'll give you a massage," Harry offered.
Draco pulled away slightly. "That's okay," he said warily. "You almost crippled me the last time you tried that."
Harry chuckled throatily, taking no offence at his boyfriend's remarks. "Don't be silly," he chided, pulling Draco firmly into position. "That was ages ago. I've picked up a few tips since then."
Draco huffed disbelievingly, but made no further effort to move. In fact, as Harry's thumbs worked the knots in his shoulders, Draco felt himself relax slightly.
"See," Harry said triumphantly, as a small sigh escaped Draco's lips. "Now, how about you tell me what's been bothering you all afternoon?"
"Nothing's bothering me," Draco lied, and then yelped as Harry's fingers dug into a particularly sensitive spot. "Hey!" he protested.
"Well, tell me the truth, then," Harry replied. "You've been acting weird since lunchtime."
There was an uncomfortable silence as Draco tried to come up with a convincing excuse, and Harry tried to work it out for himself.
"Is it about the speech?" Harry guessed. "You don't want me to do it?"
"Merlin, no!" Draco exclaimed. "Of course you should do it."
"Are you sure?" Harry pressed. "Cos I really wouldn't mind if you didn't."
"You're not getting out of it that easily, Potter."
"Then what is it? C'mon, Draco, we said no more secrets, remember?"
Draco shifted uneasily, allowing his hands to rest on Harry's thighs, which cradled his body. He lay his head back onto his boyfriend's shoulder, struggling to come up with the words to express what he was feeling.
Harry waited patiently; he understood how difficult it still was for Draco to be this open.
"It's just, all that talk of remembrance ceremonies, it just reminded me of what I was, you know?"
Harry stroked his hands gently along Draco's sides, silently trying to sooth his boyfriend's troubles.
"I forget sometimes," Draco continued. "When we're like this, it's hard to imagine us being any other way, even though I know we were."
"Seems like a lifetime ago," Harry agreed.
"But that's just it, it wasn't. This time last year, we were on opposite sides of a war. My family…my father," Draco amended, "Was trying to kill you."
"It's all in the past," Harry said softly. "It's over with."
"But it's not," Draco argued. "It never will be. You're Harry Potter, and I'm the son of a Death Eater. There'll always be something, like this memorial, reminding people, reminding us of that."
"I don't care," Harry said firmly. "You're not your father, and you weren't a Death Eater. If people can't accept you being at my side, then they'll have to have their bloody ceremonies without me."
"But I shouldn't be there, Harry, I don't belong," Draco persisted, wriggling around until he was facing his boyfriend.
Harry's hands came up and cupped Draco's face. "I need you there. You know how I hate stuff like this. I'll never be able to do it without you there to hold my hand."
"You'll have Granger and Weasley," Draco muttered, trying to turn his face from his boyfriend's earnest gaze.
Harry leant forward and brushed his lips against Draco's. "It's not the same, and you know it."
"People won't like it," Draco said, his voice almost a whisper.
"I don't give a fuck," Harry growled fiercely. "I'm done with living my life to other people's expectations. Hermione reckons that this ceremony isn't just about remembering the past, it's about looking to the future."
Harry paused and slowly traced his thumb over Draco's lips. "You're my future," he continued, blushing slightly. "And that's all I care about."
Draco inwardly cursed his boyfriend; how could he possible refuse when Harry had that pretty flush on his cheeks, and that adorable, lop-sided smile on his lips.
"Fine," he said finally, sliding his body flush against Harry's . "But you'll owe me big time for this."
"What did you have in mind?" Harry grinned wickedly as he felt Draco's erection brush deliciously against his own.
"Presents," Draco said decisively. "Lots and lots of presents."
Harry's arms wrapped firmly around his boyfriend's waist and arched into his body. "I've got something for you right now," he teased, leering slightly.
Draco sniffed in mock disgust. "Store bought presents, Potter. You're not getting off that lightly."
But his actions belied his words, as Draco slid his hand down and firmly curled it around Harry's erection.
Some time later, two very wrinkly and equally sated boys made their way out of the Prefect's bathroom. When they reached the main staircase, Draco gave Harry's hand a gentle tug.
"Stay with me tonight?" he asked.
Harry smiled a little shyly. "Actually, I was thinking that maybe you could stay with me instead."
Draco frowned briefly, before his eyes widened in surprise. In all the months that they had been together, all the nights that they had shared the same bed, never had he stayed with Harry in Gryffindor tower. Mainly this had been born from the necessity of keeping their relationship secret, but even now they were out in the open, their nights together were always spent down in the dungeons.
"I don't have any pyjamas," Draco pointed out, and then instantly wondered why he was trying to talk himself out of spending the night in Harry's bed.
"Not a problem." Harry grinned.
"Before you suggest it, Potter, I am not wearing any of yours. There's a reason that I insist on you sleeping naked, and it's not just so I can take advantage of your body."
Harry laughed at his boyfriend's acerbic comments. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of expecting you to slum it in any of mine. I got Pansy to drop some of your things off earlier, just in case."
Draco opened his mouth instantly, ready to protest the presumption, but then promptly shut it again as it occurred to him that he really didn't mind.
"Won't it cause outrage among the innocent little Gryffindors? Their vaunted Saviour having sweaty man sex right under their very noses?"
"You're going to be sadly disappointed if you're expecting sex of any variety tonight," Harry replied. "I can barely walk as it is, after earlier. I'm certainly not letting you go another round!"
"Poor baby," Draco cooed. "Want me to kiss it better for you?"
Harry's eyebrow raised in interest. "Now that I might be persuaded to let you do."
"And they all think I'm the deviant. Have you at least got your Cloak so I can sneak in?"
Harry promptly produced his Cloak with a flourish and draped it over his boyfriend, all under the watchful eye of the Fat Lady.
"Lead the way, then, Potter," Draco prompted, giving his boyfriend a sharp dig.
Harry clambered through the portrait hole, trying his best to be unobtrusive when holding the door open to allow Draco through. Looking around the room, he was relieved to see that neither Ron nor Hermione were in residence; that would make sneaking up to his room much easier.
Entering the boys' dormitory, Draco made his way straight over to Harry's bed and pulled back the hangings, intent on being safely ensconced in Harry's bed before any of his roommates came to bed - especially that pervert Finnegan.
Hearing a somewhat muffled cry of indignation from his boyfriend, Harry turned from his wardrobe and headed over to the bed. Draco was standing, glaring at the bed in outrage.
"What's up?" Harry asked, tugging his jumper over his head.
"Did you say that Pansy brought my things up here?" Draco demanded.
Harry nodded, as he slid into his own pyjama top.
"I'm going to kill her," Draco snarled, picking up a pair of red and gold check, flannel pyjamas.
Harry looked at them in surprise. "Aren't they mine?" he asked. "I thought you threw those out when you overhauled my wardrobe? An offence to decent clothes everywhere, you called them."
A rosy flush spread over Draco's normally pale cheeks. He opened his mouth to reply, but just gaped, shifting uncomfortably, and unable to form a coherent sentence.
Harry looked from the fleecy pyjamas, to his boyfriend's adorably blushing face, and things fell into place. A beaming smile on his face, Harry stepped closer and wrapped his arms round Draco's tense frame.
"I love you," Harry muttered, his face buried in the crook of Draco's neck.
"You're an idiot, Potter," Draco retorted gruffly, pushing Harry away. He swiftly undressed and clothed himself in his boyfriend's old bed wear. "I only kept them because they're warm. It gets cold in those dungeons, you know."
Harry smiled warmly and nodded. "Come to bed, Draco," he murmured, having already slid between the sheets himself.
Draco clambered into the bed and promptly slid over to Harry's side, wrapping himself around his boyfriend's warm body. Harry shifted until he was comfortable in Draco's embrace, but felt a lumpy object digging in his side. Sliding one hand under the covers, he fished around until he located the offending article.
When Harry saw what had been causing him such discomfort, he couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Draco, however, was not similarly amused at the sight of the stuffed Lion in his boyfriend's hands
"I'm going to fucking kill Pansy," he snarled.