The rain was pouring down in torrents, a thick sheet of water washing down the streets of London and turning everything and everyone into soaking wet vaguely cat-esque shapes. The sun had disappeared long ago - if it had even come out today at all - and Harry hurried forward, a harassed expression on his face as he dodged other people, one arm thrown up over his head. He wasn't allowed to Disapparate directing into his building, as it was Muggle-owned, nor was he allowed to use a Water-Dispelling Charm - it would be a little bit questionable if a bloke was casually walking down the street without a drop of water on his head.

Thus, the harassed expression.

"For fuck's sake -" he muttered, reaching up with one sodding sleeve to wipe at his glasses. He should have taken up Hermione's offer when she asked him if she wanted him to fix his eyesight - but no, the twenty-four year old man had protested that he liked things the way they were, making him the biggest prat in London at the moment. Who actually wanted glasses? It had been an idiotic move, he thought savagely now.

He stopped as the traffic flow increased right in front of his building, his expression growing darker as he stepped directly into an enormous pool of water. "Great," he said. "Fucking great." As if his day hadn't already been bad enough, now his trainers were soggy.

Recently, the Ministry had suffered a blow on their funds, due to spending so much money on building Hogwarts up to its former glory over the past couple of years, among other things, and now the Department of Magical Creatures was lowering everyone's paychecks - including the Boy Who Lived's. He'd given up on being an Auror almost as soon as he'd joined the program, quickly learning that he had had enough fighting for a lifetime. Well, that and he just didn't work well with rules - which the Auror department had plenty of. He'd always been a bit of a do-his-own-thing when it came to Saving the World, which most people couldn't seem to understand.

It had taken several months of job-searching to get to the place he was at now, working to build up rights for magical creatures, particularly House Elves and werewolves. The werewolf section had been put in because of his efforts in particular, and he often tried to remind himself of this when, on days like this, he wanted to quit his low-paid job and simply write an autobiography. Luna had offered to help him with it, on more than one occasion, yet he'd always turned it down.

Another idiotic move, he told himself, gritting his teeth.

"It wasn't a Goblin that caused that expression, was it?" asked a voice near his shoulder, "Because you know I work with the little buggers, and I've seen some of the things they can do. I've learned to just try and get over it as best as I can."

Harry suddenly found himself standing underneath a giant purple umbrella, his feet growing toasty warm as though someone had just placed a Drying Spell on them - which, he realized, turning and looking into the eyes of a startling familiar man, someone had. "Malfoy?" he asked, disbelief cooling his angry scowl.

"The very one," said the man cheerfully, and then pointed with his wand to the street. "I think we're allowed to walk now."

Harry turned slowly, and, still rather numb with confusion, allowed himself to be walked across the street - because that's what Malfoy was doing. Holding an umbrella over his head and pointing a Drying Spell at his feet and doing it all with a disturbingly calm expression.

They reached the flat and then paused, a strange silence passing between them as Harry looked at Malfoy and Malfoy hummed under his breath.

"Are you going to open it?" Malfoy asked after another moment. "This umbrella is heavy."

"You don't seem to be the type to carry an umbrella," was all Harry could say, turning and using his key to open the door. He held it open for a second, hesitantly watching as Malfoy closed the umbrella and shook it dry. "Especially a purple one."

"I don't," replied the other man, shrugging. "I Transfigured a newspaper into it. The Daily Prophet does better as an umbrella than reading material, don't you think?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Let's go upstairs, shall we?" asked Malfoy pleasantly, and they both began walking to the lift at the same time, Malfoy slightly ahead of Harry which seemed odd to Harry as he was the one that actually lived in the building.

"Are you… here for someone?" asked Harry, glancing at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye as they got on the lift and reaching up to self-consciously flatten his wild, drenched mop. Malfoy's own blond hair was no longer gelled back but rather hung loose and nice - and dry - around his face. His features had softened somehow, yet his gray eyes were as sharp as ever, and after a moment, Harry looked away, staring absently at the buttons on the side of the elevator.

"I have business here," was all the man said.

Harry was immediately reminded of the evasive manners Slytherins always possessed, a fact that he'd always hated. Rolling his eyes, he began to move as soon as the lift reached his floor, and then stopped as Malfoy started to move too.

"Thank you," said Malfoy, smirking slightly as he got off first. "I see you aren't as completely hopeless as you were at school. Your number is 516, I believe, yes?"

"… Yes," said Harry slowly, watching as Malfoy led the way to his flat. Had he just been complimented? He honestly couldn't tell at this point. "But -"

His feet slowed as he watched Malfoy come to an expectant stop in front of his door, turning and looking at Harry with such an expression that made Harry feel again like a bumbling sixth year and not the Bachelor of the Year for Witch Weekly, which he had been, twice now. "Are you - are you here for me?" he demanded, two important puzzle pieces abruptly clicking into place as he stared between Malfoy and his flat door. "Why?"

"It's polite to invite someone in if they have business to discuss," said Malfoy pointedly, still wearing an infuriating smirk.

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then sighed loudly and let the man in. He would talk to Malfoy for five minutes and then kick him out, no exceptions. He'd spent all day out of his office talking to potential sponsors for a werewolf benefit dinner, to no avail, and he did not want Draco sodding Malfoy smirking at him for the next hour and a half.

"Well?" he asked, once they were both standing awkwardly in his living room. It still hadn't quite sunk in that Draco Malfoy was standing in his flat, after having not talked to him for almost seven years, and he blinked at him somewhat dazedly, having no clue as to what this could all be about. Maybe it was a joke.

"Tea?" prompted Malfoy.

"Oh my - fucking -" muttered Harry, spinning on his heel and heading to the kitchen. Malfoy followed, examining everything with a critical eye and clucking at certain things. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me what you're here for while I make the tea, hmm?" Anything to speed up the process, the man thought darkly.

"No, I don't think I will," commented Malfoy lightly. "You never responded to my Goblin comment - which I thought was a good one, by the way - trouble at work?"

"No," said Harry, slamming the top down on the sugar rather roughly. "No trouble whatsoever."

"Maybe you don't know what my job is?" asked Malfoy, leaning against the counter with raised eyebrows. "I've been out of the paper lately, decided to keep things quiet since…" he trailed off, and Harry could fill it for himself: since the trials. "Anyway, I work with individual bankers at Gringotts, managing money and helping people invest. The youngest Weasley does the same thing, you know."

"I know," replied Harry, rolling his eyes. As if he wouldn't know what Ginny did for a job. They may no longer be dating, but he wasn't a dunce. He turned, shoving a mug at Malfoy, his expression not one of a polite host but rather of a disgruntled troll forced to share his bridge.

"I have lunch with her often," said Malfoy, sipping at the cup and humming again under his breath. "This is good tea."

Harry choked on his own tea, sputtering and coming up with a shocked look. "Now that I didn't know," he said.

"That you make decent beverages?"

"That you two eat lunch together," returned Harry irritably. "But whatever. It's not of any importance to me. What did you barge in here to talk to me about, Malfoy? I'm tired of your so-called witty comments, and I want to relax. If we could hurry this up…?"

"Very well," said Malfoy, setting his cup down on the counter nearby. He pressed his long-fingered hands together, staring down at them for a moment, and then looked up at Harry with his cool eyes. "Weasley has told me about the budget cuts at your work and I would like to live with you."

Harry honestly didn't know which to respond to first. The fact that Ginny was eating lunch with fucking Malfoy and telling him about his work troubles was one thing - but then there was the glaring statement that Malfoy wanted to move in with him? "I…"

"I know it's a bit unprecedented," said Malfoy, waving a hand airily. "And don't take it the wrong way. It's not that I want to live with you, by any means - you didn't even pass the first test, for Merlin's sake."

"The first… test…?"

"Tea," said Malfoy simply. "I had to ask for it myself, and that just won't do. But a House Elf can fix that job-"

"No," said Harry sharply. "No - you're out of your bloody mind if you thought for a second that I would say yes to this -"

"I can pay for more than half the rent," cut in Malfoy. "Weasley told me how you were about to go looking for a roommate to help pay for it, and I can fill that requirement. I'm neat, I don't have rude houseguests, if any, and I will stay out of your way. I can agree to any rules you have, within reason, and I don't have any of my own - well, not really. You know I wouldn't be asking this of you without purpose, Potter, now are you going to be your usual noble Gryffindor self or am I going to have to beg?"

Harry blinked at him, overwhelmed with this tidal wave of Malfoy-ness, and found himself quite unable to respond. The answer was still no, of course - why would he say anything other than no? - yet it seemed stuck in his throat, as if Malfoy had somehow cast a nonverbal Silencing spell over him.

"Good," said Malfoy shortly, a pearly white smile breaking out over his pale face. "I can move in within the week. It's nice doing business with you, Potter. I'll return the cup later."

And then he was walking out of the door, still carrying Harry's cup, still drinking Harry's fucking tea, Harry's no still glued to the inside of his mouth.

This could not be good.

"So he just walked in and demanded to live with you?" asked Ron, mouth agape as he stared at Harry with nothing less than absolute horror. "And you said okay?"

"Technically I didn't say anything," said Harry, poking a fork at the food sitting before him. After dealing with two angry wizards, furious because their property had been raided by centaurs, most people would be ravenous, but Harry felt the exact opposite. He actually felt sort of sick, if he was to be completely honest. Maybe it was the Malfoy thing. "He just sort of waltzed in, said his spiel, and then walked back out."

"The git," said Ron, shaking his head. "What are you going to do?"

"Um, I s'pose I'm going to-"

"He's going to let him move in, aren't you, Harry?" interrupted Hermione as she sat down, food already in front of her. "You know, it's polite to wait until a lady is back from the loo before you begin eating," she added scornfully, reminding Harry scarily of Malfoy from the day before. Merlin, since when did every conversation start to include a manners lesson?

"Maybe if you hadn't taken so damn long…" muttered Ron, stabbing a piece of fruit and munching on it angrily.

"Oh, yeah, how's that new diet going for you two?" asked Harry, grinning.

"Horrible," grumbled Ron at the same time Hermione said brightly, "Fabulous!" She shot her husband a sour look before glancing back at Harry. "Don't go changing the subject, Harry. We're talking about Draco right now."

"Draco?" asked Ron suspiciously, glancing sideways at her. "Since when is he Draco?"

"Since he and Ginny began eating lunch every day together during work," replied Hermione calmly, sliding her fork into a piece of melon and eating it delicately. "And since I joined them one day and found out that he's actually not that bad."

"Not that bad?" repeated Ron faintly.

"He did seem sort of different," muttered Harry, his gaze glued to the table. He didn't want to see Ron's reaction when he said this, although the sputtering noise gave him a clue as to the redhead's response. "I mean, he held an umbrella out for me."

"Exactly," said Hermione, as though this proved everything she'd just said. "And he spent so much money on the trial for his father, and they took away the Manor so he's living on his own, and now his mother is suffering from Dragon Pox -"

"You learned all this from one lunch together?" asked Ron, snorting. "Sounds like he's going around spreading his life story to everyone that has half a mind. He just wants your pity, 'Mione, I wouldn't believe a word he says."

"Did he really tell you all that, Hermione?" asked Harry, frowning. He hadn't heard a single thing about Narcissa Malfoy being sick, but he did know everything about Lucius Malfoy's trial, as he had been in the stands watching it all progress. He'd watched as they'd led Lucius out of the courtroom with the final decision of life in Azkaban, and had watched Narcissa's face crumble and Draco's tense posture. That had been several years ago, though, and he hadn't spared a second thought for the Malfoys since.

"Of course not. But Ginny's been eating with him lunch for almost a year now, and I think she may be one of his closest friends, as a matter of fact."

"I haven't heard Ginny mention him once," said Ron stubbornly, moodily eating the healthy food on his plate.

"Do you really think she would tell you?" sighed Hermione. "You don't exactly hide that you're not his biggest fan, you know."

Ron opened his mouth to retort something, but Harry cut in quickly - he didn't need to hear even more bickering today than he already had. "Hermione, be rational. Do you really think any kind of relationship between us would work out? I mean - he's a Malfoy. He's hated me since we were eleven bloody years old; why would now be any different? Especially in such close quarters?"

"If that's what you really think, Harry, then tell him no," said Hermione, her soft brown eyes sympathetic as she met Harry's frustrated gaze. "I think you'll do the right thing though." And she got up without another word to place her leftover food in the trash.

"Now what the fuck does that mean?" asked Harry, frowning.

"I don't know, but I was going to eat that," complained Ron. "Women."

Five days later and Harry still hadn't made a final decision. He kept finding a reason to put off making it - cleaning the toilets, vacuuming the spare room, attempting to write a want ad for a roommate. By the end of the week, he had a very clean flat and a poorly written advertisement and still no decision made about Malfoy. He came home on the Tuesday following Malfoy's sudden reappearance in his life to find the man standing impatiently outside his door, a House Elf by his side.

"Are you mad?" Harry hissed, rushing forward and sparing several panicked glances down the hall. "I live with Muggles, Malfoy! You can't just walk around with - with a House Elf by your side!"

"Relax, Potter," said the other man, rolling his eyes. "They have special magic, don't they? Muggles can't see Bleth."

"Bleth is good Elf," nodded the House Elf enthusiastically. "Bleth is to never be seeing by Muggles!"

"Also, if this arrangement is to work out, I'll be needing a key," said Malfoy smoothly, arching a golden eyebrow. "As soon as possible, if you please. I don't fancy waiting around out here every day until you make one; the neighbors will start to wonder."

"I - what? No," said Harry, eyebrows furrowing together. Now that the cause of his problem was standing before him, it was abruptly quite easy to make a decision. "No, I never said that you could move in with me, and even if I said yes, I still wouldn't go around doing your bloody errands for you!"

"Did you want the payment up front? Is that what the problem is?" asked Malfoy, sighing loudly but reaching into his neat suit nonetheless. It was the first time that Harry realized he was actually dressed quite adequately like a Muggle. He realized with a swallow that Malfoy was rather… attractive in Muggle clothing, surprisingly. The suit fit his lean form nicely and showed off his slender waist. Harry had long since accepted his sexuality, but the idea that he was possibly attracted to Malfoy -

"No, I don't need the money now!" he said hurriedly, reaching past Malfoy to stick his key in the door. He twisted it, and, with fumbling hands, shoved the door open a second later. He was aware of Malfoy's smug smirk the whole time as he stood by and let the other man pass by. "Look," he said, deciding to be upfront. "Hermione told me about your mum and -"

"She had no right to do that," cut in Malfoy sharply, but then, after a tense moment, he visibly relaxed. "Whatever. It's true. She has a bad case of Dragon Pox - but what does it matter to you?" Malfoy stared at him for a moment, studying the expression that Harry wore, and then slowly shook his head, looking away. "I should have known it would be like this," he murmured, almost to himself. And then, louder: "You're not going to change your mind about this, are you? It's still a no, and it always will be. I should go."

Harry reached out, grabbing Malfoy's arm as he made a move to walk past. "Stop," he said wearily, closing his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I'll let you move in - because I really do need someone to pay the other half of the rent, and it might as well be you. When can… you… get your stuff ready?"

"Look around you, Potter," said Malfoy's voice gleefully in his ear, and Harry's eyes flew open, "Everything's already in place."

Harry felt his mouth drop open. "Well, fuck me with a broomstick," he said, glancing around at his completely transformed flat. There were unrecognizable things littering the surface of nearly everything - new paintings, not that Harry had had that many anyway, an expensive looking oriental rug, a new fucking couch - He turned with accusing eyes to the blond. "You don't need a key - you've been in here already!"

"Impressive deduction skills," drawled Malfoy. "Now that you've given the final word on whether or not you're letting me move in - good choice, by the way, saves me the hassle of moving everything back out - I think I'm going to go explore my new room a little bit more."

And with that he walked away, leaving Harry still gaping at the new additions to his flat.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night to screaming.

He flew out of bed without a moment's thought, his wand already in his hand as he burst through his bedroom door, clad only in shimmering silk boxers. He froze there, looking for signs of an intruder, and then sprinted forward as another shout echoed from Malfoy's room. He nearly broke down the door of Malfoy's bedroom, a room that had been empty ever since he'd first rented the flat and was now filled with Malfoy's prissy things, and then hurtled into the middle of the room, wand out.

"What is it?" he shouted, keeping his back to Malfoy as his eyes darted around the room. "Where is he? Malfoy? Malfoy!" He whirled, expecting to find the blond dead, or tied up, or just plain gone, only to find the man shifting and squirming on the bed with a flushed face.

A nightmare.

All the adrenaline rushed out of Harry and he sagged forward, staring down at Malfoy with a bewildered expression. He was having a sodding nightmare? He moved forward, one hand outstretched, and prodded Malfoy on the shoulder, trying to wake him up.

"Hey," he said, trying to be gentle about it. "Hey, Malfoy - you're dreaming. Wake up. It's not real." He shook him harder, trying to pull the man from his sleep, and then froze as Malfoy's hand shot up to wrap around Harry's wrist. In a complicated movement that Harry probably wouldn't have been able to do even awake, Malfoy pulled him down and kicked up at the same time, flipping Harry over the side of the bed and hurling him into the side of the wall.

Harry hit with a thud that he knew his neighbors would complain about and then sank to the ground, groaning. "Fucking hell, Malfoy," he said, struggling to his feet. He pointed his wand at the man, and said, "Aguamenti," sending a bucket full of water at the former Slytherin's sleeping form.

With a gasping sputter, Malfoy sat straight up in bed, his sheets soaked both from the sweat dripping off him and the water Harry had just sprayed all over him. "What the fuck," he said, glancing all around the room before his panicked gaze landed on Harry. "Potter? What the hell are you doing in my room, dumping water on me?" The light had left his eyes, leaving him looking sodden and more than slightly accusing.

"Waking you up!" said Harry angrily, straightening up and immediately wishing he had decided to put on a robe before leaping into Malfoy's room to save him. His boxers weren't doing such a great job of making him feel self-righteous at the moment. "Merlin, Malfoy, why didn't you tell me before you moved in that you had night terrors? Is this an every night thing? Do you expect me to come wake you up and get thrown all over the room every damn night?"

"I - " said Malfoy, and it gave Harry a sort of vindictive pleasure to note that a pink flush was working its way up the other man's body. "I put a Silencing Spell on my room before I went to sleep. I thought it would last all night but -" he fell silent, looking down at the dark brown bedspread on his lap. "Sorry."

Harry immediately felt like an arse. As if he himself hadn't had to deal with nightmares ever since the war had ended. Any normal human being would, after what everyone had been put through, even Malfoy. Especially Malfoy. "Oh, well - yeah, well, I thought … you would have a green bedspread," he said stupidly, his eyes on Malfoy's hands, which were compulsively smoothing the fabric on his lap again and again. "Being a Slytherin and all."

"What?" asked Malfoy with a confused expression, looking up at Harry. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"It doesn't," muttered Harry, and God damn it, now he was the one flushing. "Want some tea?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment, his eyes boring into Harry's before sliding down and examining the full length of Harry's mostly naked body. When he next met Harry's eyes, there was something faintly amused in the depths of his, a small smile curling up his lips. "All right."

"I'll just - grab a robe," said Harry hastily, and he darted out before the other man could get out of his bed, pressing into his room and looking around hurriedly before grabbing his red-and-gold-trimmed robe and sidling back out.

Malfoy was already in the kitchen, sitting at the counter in his own robe which was - bewilderingly, to Harry at least - blue.

"Ah," said Malfoy, spotting Harry. "I see why you wondered about the colour. Tell me, Potter, is your bedspread red, by any chance?" There was something in his face that told Harry he was foolish for being a stereotypical Gryffindor.

"Of course not," lied Harry, turning pointedly away from the stupid smirk on the other man's face and heading towards the kettle. "So - er, wanna talk about it?"

There was a silence, and Harry was about pull back his offer, knowing that Malfoy was probably sitting there in anger that he would even offer that - when suddenly the man spoke, and Harry was surprised to find a note of humor in his voice. "Are your magnificent therapy skills included in my half of the rent? If I had known that much, I would have moved in ages ago, Merlin."

Harry turned around, resting back against the stove and crossing his arms against his chest, a reluctant smile on his face. "Sorry, it's extra. So is this tea, by the way. Hope you're planning on doing some shopping every other week." Harry hesitated and then tilted his head to the ceiling, unwilling to see Malfoy's face at his confession. "I'm not very good with people. I usually only talk to Hermione and Ron during the week; otherwise, I'm working. So, if you moved in because you were looking for friendship -"

"Potter, stop," said Malfoy, and a peek at him revealed the blond was rolling his eyes. "Stop being so pitiful, it hurts my head. I moved in here to save money. End of story. Fix the fucking tea and stop dithering about."

"Right," said Harry, relieved that awkward segment was finished. He turned around, and soon the sounds of tea being poured fill the air, and then -

"The nightmares started a long time ago," said Malfoy in a low voice. Harry paused, wondering if he should turn around for this, and then continued pouring the tea, his head bent. "After the war. I think you might've been one of the few people that had it worse than me, Potter, although - whatever you went through, at least you didn't have to live with him in your home. I suppose you're going to say that I brought it on myself," finished Malfoy in a bitter tone.

Harry turned around with the two mugs, walking the short distance across the kitchen and sliding one of the mugs across the counter to Malfoy. He took the seat opposite, silent for a moment as he cautiously sipped his tea, and then he looked up and met the guarded grey eyes across from him. "I wasn't going to say that at all," said Harry, though he'd be lying to say that the idea hadn't occurred to him. "Everyone made bad decisions during the war." He thought of Ron, of Xenophilius, of Scrimgeour. "You're not the only one still haunted."

Malfoy made a small noise. "Does that mean you - ?"

"Yes," said Harry shortly.

Yes, Harry had nightmares. Green flashes of light; people dying while he watched on; red eyes that stared on and on while Harry writhed in pain. Perhaps the worst was seeing the faces of those who had died, died for him, Harry, and then waking up and remembering again and again that those faces were gone forever. He had woken up an endless amount of times, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his heart pounding in his ears. To find that someone else suffered the same symptoms, perhaps even moreso than he did - it was comforting in a sick way.

"This is good tea," offered Malfoy, lifting the mug up slightly in a toast and then taking another sip.

Harry couldn't help it; he grinned. "So I've heard. Listen, Malfoy -"

"Are you gonna suggest I sleep with padded underwear?" sighed Malfoy loudly. "Because Blaise suggests it all the fucking time and I really -"

"Er, I was actually gonna say that we maybe we should do an every-other-night switch off deal on dinner, because I'm a rubbish cook, but padded underwear… might be a good idea as well…" said Harry in a slow voice, giving Malfoy an odd look.

"Right. Yeah. That's - did I mention that I really like this tea?" asked Malfoy and then proceeded to bury his nose in his mug, drinking nosily.

"So how has it been with - things?" asked Ron, curiosity barely hidden in the familiar blue eyes that peered at Harry over their lunch. It had been almost three weeks since Malfoy had inserted himself into Harry's life, and Harry poked at his lunch now with just as little interest in it as he had those weeks ago. Hermione was nowhere to be found, and perhaps that was the reason Ron was bringing it up now, as Hermione had made it clearly where her loyalties lie this one time and it was certainly not with her husband and best friend.

"It's been… odd," said Harry, scratching the side of his neck. Odd was only one out of many terms that applied to the experience, really, including confusing, bewildering, tiring, and, at rare times, amusing. He'd never really paid attention to the sharp wit that was Draco Malfoy, and now all of a sudden it was living in his flat, watching his telly, making rude comments.

They'd both quickly fallen into an odd sort of pattern, and though it was obvious that Malfoy was a flawed person - well, Harry had found out that he didn't really mind those flaws quite as much as he had when he'd been in school. For one, Malfoy was incredibly neat, almost scarily so. Harry had thought there'd be problems when he'd blatantly refused to allow a House Elf to live with them, but it had only taken a few days for him to realise that Malfoy had a tendency to trail after Harry and pick up all the things he dropped., making a House Elf pointless in the first place.

And then there was the fact that, when he couldn't hear Malfoy screaming in his dreams for whatever reason, he could hear Malfoy's nightly visitors wandering around the flat and doing whatever the hell it was they did with Malfoy. Harry didn't mention it, and so neither did Malfoy, although if they interrupted Harry's sleep one more time, he might just have to storm out of his room - this time wearing a little more than silk briefs - and say something about it.

Mainly, though, the time they spent together was filled with brief conversations about work and Quidditch and people from school and the latest Ministry scandal and whatever Muggle contraception Malfoy couldn't seem to understand at the moment.

Harry could have said any one of these things to Ron, but, looking at his best mate, who had chosen to remain an Auror even after Harry had left it during training, he decided not to say anything of them and instead went with, "He cooks really well."

"He cooks really well?" asked Ron lifting his eyebrows and reaching across the table to snatch one of Harry's chips. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means he cooks really well," shrugged Harry. "We were gonna switch off dinner every night but then he found out that the only thing I can make is eggs and bacon - and tea, he really likes my tea, for some reason - but other than that, you know all I cook is shite, and, well, he took things into his own hands and I must say, his hands are skilled," finished Harry, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"His hands are skilled?" questioned Ron dryly, staring at Harry.

Harry choked on his sandwich and then glared at Ron, his ears burning red. "You know that's not what I meant!" he rasped, reaching for his water. "I just meant - well - he cooks good, shut up, you twat."

"Uh huh," snorted Ron. "Sure. But - seriously, mate, do I need to do some arse-kicking? Because you know I will, just say the word. He's not being a royal prat, is he?"

"He's… different," said Harry, staring down at his food and thinking back over the nights where they'd both just sat quietly in each other's presence, Harry watching the telly and Malfoy reading the newspaper. "He's changed. I don't know; I can't explain it. He's still rude and a git most of the time, but then - you can tell that the war hurt him." As evidence by the nightly screams that echoed through the flat. There had been more than one incidences mirroring that of the first night together, and more than one late night tea-drinking session.

Ron swore under his breath, shaking his head, and Harry looked up, amused. "What?"

"You! You're just like Ginny and Hermione," said Ron, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "He can't be that much better than he was. He made a lot of fucking mistakes, Harry."

"I know," said Harry quietly. "But - damn it, Ron, the whole reason I got into the department I did is so that I could stop all the fucking prejudice. And - I hate to admit it, but that includes ones against people like Malfoy." He sighed. "I know it's fucked up - he's fucked up - but… he's not really that bad. I tolerate him and he tolerates me and you can't ask for much more in this world."

There was a long pause and then: "Merlin, Harry," said Ron, shaking his head and turning back down to his salad, "it's a good thing I'm not gay because I just don't think you and I would really work out, but when you say things like that… Merlin."

Harry slammed the door shut behind him, storming into the living room of his and Malfoy's flat with a furious expression on his face. "Those - fucking - FUCK," he said, ripping his hands through his hair and then storming into his bedroom and slamming that door too.

"Bad day at work?" called Malfoy from where he lounged lazily on the couch, flicking idly through the telly. Both his head and feet were propped up on cushions and a mug of tea rested on the floor by his side. He paused, frowning and muting the tv, and then smiled to himself as Harry came storming back in the room, unable to resist a rant.

"Like you wouldn't fucking believe!" said Harry, throwing his hands up and glaring down at Malfoy from the end of the couch. "Those fucking - every fucking one of them - all fucking thing they can do whatever they want and make whatever decision they want and it won't affect people that have families and - what are you smiling at?"

Malfoy had pushed himself into a sitting position during Harry's speech and now he gave Harry a thoroughly amused expression, reaching up to rake a hand over his blond hair. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing.""Are you laughing at me?" demanded Harry, green eyes flashing. "Because now is not the time to fuck with me, Malfoy."

"I'm not," protested Malfoy, still looking decidedly too amused for Harry's liking as he got to his feet, stretched, and then walked towards the kitchen. "Let's have a drink, shall we?"

"Tea?" grumbled Harry, shuffling his feet as he followed after the other man.

"I was thinking something a little more stronger," commented Malfoy lightly, and Harry paused at the edge of the kitchen, watching with shadowed eyes as Malfoy reached up to the top of the far cabinet, his shirt stretching up over his stomach and revealing pale white skin, smooth and taunting. Harry felt his mouth go dry, his eyes glued to that strip of skin just above Malfoy's waistline and just below the edge of his shirt, and he was suddenly reminded of just how long it had been since he'd been laid.

Far, far too long.

"This ought to do the trick," said Malfoy pleasantly, turning around and looking entirely unaware that he had just sent a rush of hormones racing through Harry's sex-deprived body. In his hands was a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses, and there was something about that image that made all the anger leave Harry's body and a small, resigned smile cross his face.

"Fuck you, Malfoy, you've found my weakness," he sighed, reaching out for one of the glasses. "Knew I should have never agreed to let you move in."

Malfoy shrugged innocently. "I know it's hard for you to believe, Potter, but not all of us are as oblivious as you are." An odd look crossed over his face and then he smirked. "Are we going to just stand around all day and chit chat or are we going to drink like men?"

"Lead the way," gestured Harry, arching his eyebrows and then padding after Malfoy as he lead them into the living room. There was a click and then the tv was turned off and when Harry next looked around, he found Malfoy to be gone. "Erm -"

"Down here," came the disembodied voice.

Harry moved and then sniggered at the sight of Malfoy with his back to the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest and the glass of firewhiskey held aloft in one hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, but he dropped down next to Malfoy anyway, curious as to what was happening.

"I don't like drinking in the open," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes.

"Um… why?"

"Because," said Malfoy impatiently. "I - I don't know. I feel like people are always waiting for me to fuck up, and being drunk is the easiest way for me to prove them right. So I do it where no one can possibly see me." He made an uncomfortable movement and then tossed his drink back, reaching for the bottle and refilling his glass.

"I can honestly say that I feel the exact same way," said Harry in a quiet voice. "Though I haven't yet resorted to drinking behind couches."

Malfoy was already shaking his head before Harry had even finished. "It's not the same thing. Sure, everyone likes to see a celebrity screw up so that they can have something to talk about besides their own miserable lives, but they'd forgive you eventually for whatever it is you did. But with me? Merlin, Potter, people still hate me and the war has been over for seven fucking years. They avoid me in shops, they don't serve me in pubs, they talk about me when I walk. I've been branded for life." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Everyone hates me."

Harry stared into the depths of his firewhiskey, currently untouched, and then tossed it back with a sharp grimace. "Not everyone," he told Malfoy, purposely not looking at him. "I don't." And he didn't. He wasn't sure when it had happened; somewhere between all the tea-making and explaining Muggle concepts and waking Malfoy up night after night from nightmares, he had stopped hating him. He'd stopped thinking of him as an enemy.

Harry jumped slightly as he felt a hand on his arm but when he turned his head sideways he saw that it was only Malfoy holding the firewhiskey out and Harry gave him a grateful smile, holding up his glass and letting Malfoy refill it.

"You're not so bad yourself, Potter," said Malfoy after another long moment of them both nursing their separate drinks. "I mean, you seem to have forgotten how to do laundry, and you pick out shitty tv shows to watch, but -"

"Are you going to bring up my tea?" asked Harry wryly, his lips curving up in a half-smirk. "Because, Malfoy, I'm starting to get the feeling that you only like me for my God damn tea."

"You've caught me!" gasped Malfoy, mockingly looking shocked. "Are you going to kick me out now?"

"I think the opportune moment for me to kick you has already passed," said Harry delicately. "Sometime between you sneaking into my bedroom and stealing my shampoo -"

"I was out! And it was horrible quality anyway," sniffed Malfoy.

"- and that night you got mad at me because you're a child and then only cooked things that had strawberries in them because you knew I wouldn't be able to eat any of it."

"I was just in the mood for strawberries!" said Malfoy with an outraged expression.

"And strawberry wine and strawberry jello and strawberry jam on all the rolls?" demanded Harry with a sour expression.

Malfoy just smiled.

"Besides, I think it's asking a little much of me to get used to having a completely different person in the flat at this point," sighed Harry. "If you left, I'd probably go back to living alone, rent be buggered."

"I never realized, back at Hogwarts, what a completely anti-social twat you are," said Malfoy, laughing and then taking a sip of his firewhiskey. Harry shivered slightly at the husky laugh, and then immediately scowled at being called an anti-social twat. "Don't get me wrong," went on Malfoy, oblivious to Harry's confused feelings. "I was viciously aware of what a twat you were, but… I always used to think you loved being in the spotlight."

"Glad you've finally come to your senses," said Harry dryly. "Being me wasn't as brilliant as everyone liked to assume."

Malfoy turned his head sideways, pressing his cheek against the back of the couch, and Harry unconsciously did the same, both of them staring at each other for a moment. Harry waited for the other man to speak, and when he didn't, simply contented himself with staring, since the Slytherin obviously didn't mind. Sharp features, soft hair, perfect lips - Harry felt a slow heat building up in his stomach, spreading south quickly. His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips, and he froze as Malfoy's eyes flickered down to his lips.

"Malfoy -" he whispered, and then suddenly Malfoy was on his feet, lifting his hand to his mouth and faking a yawn.

"Wow, I'm exhausted," mumbled Malfoy, not looking at Harry, and then he muttered a quick "Good night, then," and walked swiftly past Harry into his room.

Harry sat there for a moment, looking lost and confused because hadn't they been having fun? And hadn't it been weeks since their last real argument? And hadn't Malfoy just been looking at him with something more in his eyes? Harry got quite drunk after that, went into his room, wanked furiously, and fell asleep to the sound of someone-that-wasn't-Malfoy entering the flat.

"Merlin, can you two please stop playing chess?" complained Harry loudly, crossing his arms pointedly across his chest and glaring as Ron and Malfoy both ignored him. "I'm going back into the kitchen now," he called even louder still. "To eat dinner with Hermione." Now he cleared his throat. "Because that's what we're doing here. Eating dinner. Oh, bullocks this," he muttered, turning and walking back into the kitchen.

Behind him, he could hear Malfoy ordering his Knight to E3 and then saying mildly, "Can't you control your pet, Weasley?"

Harry froze, waiting for Ron to snap back with an insult or a retort and then Harry deflated as Ron came back with, "I've tried, mate, I really have, but he just seems to have a mind of his own."

Unable to determine whether or not he should be upset about the fact that his best mate wasn't defending him properly, Harry shook his head and walked further into the kitchen, heading straight to the counter and hopping up on one of the stools. "How's it going in here?" he asked Hermione, watching as she bustled back and forth between stirring something unidentifiable and mashing potatoes.

"The better question is how it's going out there," she asked, giving him a sideways, curious glance before continuing on with her cooking.

Harry paused again, cocking an ear towards the living room, and when no sounds of fighting or destruction reached him, made a face. "They seem to be - getting along," he said, and no, that was not a whine in his voice, thank you very much. "I don't understand it, Hermione; I thought Ron would hate him for all of eternity - and yet they're in there, playing chess, having fun."

"What's so surprising about it?" asked Hermione, turning and wiping her hands along her apron. "You like him. Ginny likes him. I like him. Draco's changed," she smiled. "Ron's just a little more stubborn than the rest of us; I knew that as soon as he realized he'd found a suitable chess partner, things would change."

Harry shook his head in amazement as sounds of laughter floated out towards them. "You're unbelievable, Hermione."

She smiled again, this time looking pleased, and went to sit next to him at the counter. "How've you been, Harry?"

Harry gave her a shifty smile, wishing he wasn't friends with one of the most perceptive witches in Britain. Perhaps in the entire damn world. "What do you mean? You're with me all the time, Hermione, you know just as well as I do."

She gave him a shrewd look. "Yes, but how have you been? Harry, you've been working harder than ever -"

"I'm trying to get a herd of centaurs more land!" protested Harry. "And they're being bloody difficult about it too, want all sort of benefits and hunting grounds -"

"Harry," said Hermione sternly, and he quelled. She sighed, reaching out and patting his hand consolingly. "I know it's hard for you, Harry - but you can't just remained cooped up in this flat with Draco all the time. How've things been in the … romance department?"

Harry scrubbed his face tiredly, wishing he were anywhere else but having this conversation with Hermione Weasley. "It's - well - I mean, okay, yeah, I haven't had a relationship in almost eight months. Maybe more than eight months if you don't count that - whatever. But - I'm happy," he said, and he almost wasn't lying. Almost.

"Harry…" said Hermione gently, and then suddenly she paused, narrowing her eyes and leaning in towards him. She screwed up her nose and purposely, pointedly took a delicate sniff of Harry's hair. "Are you using Draco's shampoo?"

"How do you know it's Malfoy's?" asked Harry stupidly, staring at her in fear.

"Because I - well, no, nevermind. This is about you," she said, frowning. "Are you - Harry, are you sleeping with Malfoy?"

It hadn't escaped his attention that she'd switched to Malfoy's surname for that sentence alone. "No!" he sputtered. "Of course not! That's ridiculous!"

Hermione frowned. "Do you wish you were sleeping with Draco?"

Back to Draco. Harry hesitated, wondering how much it was worth to tell Hermione this one thing that he had been keeping to himself for weeks now, possibly since their drinking-behind-the-couch incident, but before he could make an actual decision as to whether or not he should share that sort of information, Hermione, bless her soul, figured it out first.

"You're in love with him," she breathed, eyes wide.

"What? No!" yelped Harry and then glanced hurriedly over his shoulder at the chess game going on in the other room. "Don't tell Ron," he pleaded, turning back to Hermione and giving her a desperate look. "It's not love, I swear - it's just … mild attraction."

"Mild attraction my arse," snorted Hermione, resting one of her elbows on the counter and watching Harry with sparkling brown eyes. "Do you think he likes you?"

"Hermione, I'm gay," said Harry with a weary expression. "And Malfoy is completely straight."

"Oh, but Draco is -" began Hermione with an odd look on her face, but then Ron and Malfoy came trooping in the kitchen, Ron looking gleeful and Malfoy looking amused and Hermione cut off, sparing Harry one last strange expression before moving to get out the plates.

Time moved forward. The Daily Prophet, which had at one time found so much interest in Harry and Malfoy's living situation, found bigger and better gossip to occupy its pages with. Hermione became pregnant. Malfoy's dreams ceased to be. The budget increased at the Ministry. Malfoy, once again, asked if they could have a House Elf clean the place, despite its pristine appearances. Harry made them both tea, again and again and again, endless amounts of tea.

And Harry continued to fall in love with Malfoy.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered under his breath, staring up at the ceiling of his room and half-praying that he would start to hear the sounds of Malfoy having a nightmare. That would mean that he would get to run to the rescue… and maybe this time he would forget his robe, like he had that very first time… and maybe he would wake Malfoy up this time using his lips… wrapped warmly around Malfoy's cock -

Harry groaned, closing his eyes and shifting edgily on his bed. He felt as though he was constantly horny these days, unable to find reprieve as Malfoy taunted him with his lazy movements and low-riding trousers and tight-fitting shirts. Harry shifted again, and, unable to help himself, allowed his hand to creep down, sliding down over his torso, skating over his hard nipples, and then wrapping a warm hand around his cock. "Fuck," said Harry, dragging his hand up in a slow, firm stroke. He was already achingly hard, and it was all fucking Malfoy's fault.

He slipped his thumb over the head, smearing his thumb with pre-come and then sliding it down his cock again, falling into a well practiced rhythm. He could picture pressing Draco - he was Draco in these daydreams - against the wall and pressing hot lips to his feverishly, grinding his hips against Draco's and gasping as he felt Draco's cock, hard against his even through the fabric of their trousers.

"Eager, aren't we?" murmured Harry, smirking and then nipping at Draco's neck, his cock growing harder still as Draco moaned in his ear.

"For you? Fuck - always," said Draco back, his husky voice sending shivers down Harry's burning body. "I want you, Harry, I want you always; I need you in me, fucking me - claiming me -"

Usually, the fantasy started with Draco moaning to be fucked, then moved on to Draco sucking Harry off, then finished with Draco on all fours with Harry's cock in his arse. But it had been a long day and Harry hadn't wanked in at least three days, and he was tired. He'd barely made it to where Draco's pink lips were wrapped snugly around Harry's prick when Harry groaned and came, his body immediately relaxing down into his bed. He just barely had time to wave his wand for a Cleaning Spell before his eyes were shut and sleep overtook him, pulling him under.

He awoke to shouting.

Except this time it wasn't coming from a different room - it was coming from right above him. And Malfoy sounded perfectly awake; too awake, really, as by proven by his obnoxious shouting and the way he was currently shaking Harry's shoulder.

"Get - the fuck - off me!" grunted Harry, and he grabbed Malfoy's arm and tugged hard, barely noting that he'd pulled a bit too hard before Malfoy had collapsed down on top of Harry, his entire weight landing directly on top of the Gryffindor. Harry gasped, arching up into Malfoy and then groaning as he realized Malfoy's thigh was directly between Harry's thighs. This was not working out well.

"What are you doing?" groaned Harry, still trying unsuccessfully to push Malfoy away.

"You were - having a nightmare," explained Malfoy in a subdued voice, and then suddenly his face was hovering over Harry's and his lips were just inches from Harry's and suddenly, despite his wank only hours earlier, Harry's prick decided to take interest. "You were saying my name. You said - 'I didn't mean to, Malfoy.'"

"Oh," said Harry, and felt his libido dwindled away again. He turned his head sideways, avoiding Malfoy's curious, concerned gaze. "I was - it was about us. In the bathroom."

"Potter," said Malfoy softly.

Harry resolutely remained looking away.

"Potter," said Malfoy more insistently.

"Please get off me," muttered Harry, still firmly looking away.

"… Harry," whispered Malfoy.

Harry whipped his head up, his eyes wide and his breath catching in his throat at the look on Malfoy's face. It was tender and unexpected and -

"I forgave you so long ago for that, you stupid fucker," said Malfoy softly, shaking his head, and then, suddenly a blaze entered his grey eyes, a look that spoke of determination and want and something stronger that Harry could not possibly recognise - and Malfoy leaned in, kissing Harry firmly.

Harry moaned, his hands coming up to grip Draco's - Draco, Draco, Draco - head firmly, bringing him ever closer, and then Draco's tongue was nudging at Harry's mouth and warmth and the other man's tongue was exploring Harry's mouth, sliding against his tongue, and fuck, he loved Draco, he loved him so damn much, and then Draco was kissing a line of heat down Harry's jaw, his fingers frantically sliding down Harry's chest.

"Want you," murmured Draco, pulling away and giving Harry a burning look that went straight to Harry's cock. "Need you."

"How can you be real?" asked Harry breathlessly, sliding his fingertips along the other man's flushed face. "How can you want this?"

"Harry," smiled Draco, and he leaned in and kissed him warmly again. "Silly, silly Harry. You thought I was straight, didn't you?" And, almost as if to mock Harry for this belief, he shifted on top of Harry, allowing the Gryffindor to feel his erection.

Harry gasped, his fingers, which had been exploring the smooth expanse of Draco's chest, digging in to skin. "I thought - I -"

"I'm gay," laughed Draco, bending down and kissing him again. Harry drank him in, unable to have enough now that he had seen what it felt like, what Draco tasted like. "And I'm not a virgin, Harry. If you'd like to take me hard and fast…" Draco leaned in, his lips brushing against Harry's neck as his lower half moved slowly. "Or slow and deep… any way you'd like, really. Fuck me, Harry, please…"

Already feeling like he was about to burst, Harry nodded sloppily, his fingers moving clumsily as he tried to pull off Draco's pajama bottoms, along with the pants underneath. And then Draco was free, his cock jutting out proudly from golden curls, pre-come leaking from the top. "Move," rasped Harry, and Draco hurriedly complied, scrabbling off Harry and then laying on his back on the bed as Harry looked down at him with hungry eyes.

"I've wanted you," admitted Harry in a low voice, and he didn't miss the way Draco shuddered happily. "For a long time." And then he leaned forward, taking Draco's cock in his hand and licking a firm stripe up the length. He smiled to himself as Draco whimpered loudly, his hands fisting in the red bedspread that he had mocked so long ago, and Harry moved, taking the reddening length into his mouth and bobbing his head, taking Draco in to the root.

Draco gasped, his hands moving to find a spot in Harry's hair, his hips bucking wildly. "Harry, HarryHarryHarry," he chanted, his eyes impossibly wide.

Harry threw a hand out, wandlessly Summoning a bottom of lube from his drawer and then pulled off of Draco with a pop, focusing only long enough to cover his hand in oil before returning his ministrations to Draco's cock. He licked and sucked and kissed and then, at the right moment, he pushed a finger into Draco, groaning around his mouthful of cock at the tight ring of muscle enveloping his finger. The idea of that around his cock… Merlin.

He made sure to pull away from Draco each time he seemed close to the edge, and soon he had two fingers in, then three, pushing them into Draco and searching each time for that one spot - and then suddenly Draco writhed, his eyes wild. "Fuck!" he gasped, chest heaving with a light sheen of sweat on it. "Fuck, Potter, Harry, please, please, I need you -"

Harry didn't need much more encouragement. He got on his knees, dripping oil all along his cock, and then aligned himself to Draco's arsehole, his voice breathless when he said, "Ready?"

"If you don't shove it in right now -" growled Draco, and Harry laughed.

"You know how to sweet talk 'em, Malfoy," he said, and then he was pressing in and Draco was panting and holy hell it was so hot and wet and tight, so fucking tight, and Harry pushed in harder, slipping past the initial ring of muscle and then gasping as he pressed all the way in to the hilt. "Fuck," gasped Harry and then again, "Fuck."

"Move," moaned Draco, shifting his hips just a little bit and then Harry was gone, pulling out and then pushing back in and calling Draco's name, again and again, and watching Draco squirm underneath him in pleasure, and Merlin, it had been so long since he'd last done this.

Draco wrapped his legs around Harry, his heels digging into Harry's back and urging him in deeper. His arms came up around Harry's neck, tugging, and then the blond kissed him, sloppily, all tongue and warm lips and happy smiles. And then suddenly Draco stiffened, his eyes wide and his body clenching around Harry as he came, spurting white strings of come all over Harry's stomach. And on Draco's lips, as he came, was only one word, a strangled, "Harry."

That did it for the Gryffindor, and he only made it two more strokes before coming as well, his breath ragged as he rode out his orgasm.

There was a moment of silence in which only their heaving panting and loud heartbeats could be heard, and then Draco made a movement and Harry panicked, clinging to him with wide eyes. "Are you - leaving?" he whispered, too ashamed by his moment of weakness to look at Draco.

"No, you ridiculous Gryffindor," whispered Draco back, and Harry was so relieved that he allowed Draco to extract himself and flop down more steadily onto Harry's bed, holding his arms open afterwards. Harry crawled up, his body worn and clumsy with sleep, immediately wrapping his arms and legs back around Draco with his head nuzzled in the blond's chest.

"'M warm," murmured Harry, snuggling down and pressing a lazy kiss to Draco's chest as the man pulled a sheet over both of them.

"Harry?" asked Draco after a pause.


"How long have you - you know?"

"Liked you?"


Harry peeked open a tired eye at Draco, smiling crookedly. "Too long." He hesitated, and then, feeling slightly more awake, asked softly, "What about your visitors?"

Draco froze. "What visitors?"

Harry looked away, one of his fingers idly drawing a pattern on the other man's bare chest. "I hear them," he confessed with an embarrassed voice. "Walking around the flat. I know it's not just you; I hear them Apparate. I hear you talk to them too. I - I don't care who it is, but," and now his hand flattened possessively over Draco's stomach, "I don't share, Malfoy."

There was a long silence and Harry tried several times in that instance to force himself to get up and leave, but at last Draco said, in a voice that was far too humiliated for Harry to understand, "They're not - my … lovers, Harry. Harry, look at me."

And Harry did, because after what had just happened, he honestly felt as though he would give Draco the world if he asked for it. "Who is it then?"

"It's - Merlin, this is so embarrassing, I didn't know you were awake, listening," Draco paused, muttering to himself, and then looked at Harry, two bright spots rising on his cheeks. "It's been Bleth, this entire time. My, uh, House Elf? You remember? Um… You said I couldn't have one, and I hate having messes, so I've been letting her in at night and having her clean the flat. Oh, and also sometimes - okay, damn it, a lot of the time - she cooks meals ahead of time and I just re-heat them the next night so you think I'm a good chef."

Harry sat up slightly, dragging the sheet with him, and simply stared at Draco, pressing his lips together tightly.

"What?" asked Draco defensively, colouring further still. "She's a really good cook! Fuck you, Potter - fuck you!"

Because Harry had started laughing and laughing and he couldn't stop and he buried his face in Draco's chest, hiccupping slightly as he tried to get himself under control. "Draco," he said, lifting his head and grinning. They were almost nose to nose, and Harry could see every fleck of grey in the other man's eyes. "Be my boyfriend."

"Are you going to make fun of me for having a House Elf sneak in at night for months to do my cooking and cleaning?" sulked Draco.

"Yes," said Harry, laughing again and then leaning in and kissing Draco warmly. "Please?" he asked, tilting his head and giving the man his best pleading stare.

Draco considered him for a moment and then caved. "Fine. I never did like that damn House Elf anyway. She talks far too much."

"Mmm," said Harry, making a noise of contentment as he kissed Draco long and slow. "Just like someone else I know. Maybe we could get that mouth to a better use?"


notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BESTEST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD3 (this makes fifteen) (I think). hope you liked it! blergh if it was too rushed, i'll just go back later and add in more lovely wonderful relationship-building scenes between everyone's favourite pairing. xx