A/N: I wrote this for Laux14's 'There's Someone Else' Challenge. I hope you enjoy.

Draco moved into a large house across the street from the Potters, and at the beginning he hated it. Despite the fact he only moved to Godric's Hollow to get away from it, Draco missed Malfoy Manor, and he despised looking out of the glass of his bedroom window only to see a silhouette of Potter and Weaselette through the thin beige blinds on their bedroom window. He felt like a voyeur, and although he denied it, he kind of was one. They had a son, didn't they? Draco saw him sometimes, the dark-haired boy. He looked like an equal mix of both of his parents, only with the crazed nest of hair that his father possessed. It may have been scruffy, but Draco was envious of how shiny it looked. They didn't use Madam Silkern's Silvery Shine Shampoo. Draco checked.

A few weeks later, however, Draco reluctantly admitted to himself he had a bit of an infatuation with them, especially Potter. It wasn't that he hadn't been completely infatuated with Harry Potter for pretty much three quarters of his life, but now it was intense.

Draco began dreaming about Harry. Pressing that handsome, lean body down into his silk bedspread and ravishing him roughly through the night, lapping softly at his lips and his throat, his collarbones, his chest, his stomach… Draco woke up right as his teeth grazed over the metallic-tasting zip on Harry's skinny jeans – which, for the record, Draco knew he didn't own. Don't ask how he knew. Draco couldn't exactly remember.

Then the image began invading his everyday thoughts. The Ministry didn't exactly trust Draco, him being an ex-Death Eater and all, so Draco spent his working days sitting at his oak dining table, poring over sheets after sheets of paperwork. It wasn't the most engaging job, so Draco was left with quite a large amount of free thinking space. You already know what occupied it.

Draco was starting to lose hope. If this madness didn't end soon, Draco would be forced to move away. That would be a shame; he did like the house very much, after all. And anyway, whenever Draco was in doubt of why Potter hated him, all he needed to do was pull the third drawer on his dresser down and revisit his memories of him and Harry in his secret Pensieve.

One day, there was a knock on his door. Which was strange, as Draco never got guests. Nobody dared come near him nowadays. Nevertheless, Draco opened his front door to see the star of his dreams standing at his doorstep. With a suitcase.

"Malfoy," said Potter, "I know we don't know each other that well, and we haven't exactly been the best of friends, but… Well…"

"Spit it out," said Draco.

"Ginny kicked me out of the house for saying something in my sleep, and Ron's gone on holiday with Hermione. Luna is on her honeymoon and Neville is at Hogwarts. I would go to Mrs Weasley's place but whenever I go they talk about how my son is doing, how old is he now, am I going to have another child, how they hope one of them is ginger, etcetera. All of the hotels are booked up completely for some giant sacred festival, and, well… I have nowhere to go!"

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So you want to stay at my place?"

Harry nodded.

"Couldn't you just ask some of your fangirls? I bet they would kill to have you stay over."

Harry groaned – it was rather an appealing sound. "Exactly! They could molest me in my sleep!"

"We wouldn't want that, would we, Potter? Come inside," Draco said.

"What, seriously?"

"Yeah. You asked."

"I thought you'd say no and I'd be subjected to a cold night in some mental teenaged girl's bed."

Draco reached down and lifted Harry's light trunk into his arms. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, then. Get inside."

"Yes, sir." Harry did a mocking salute and wandered into the house. He immediately made a bee-line to the sofa, before collapsing onto it and almost instantaneously falling asleep. If it'd been anyone else, Draco would have been a bit ticked off, but for Harry he could make an exception.

This became a routine. Harry was kicked out of the house on increasing occasions, for reasons like:

"I said someone else's name in bed."

"She thought I was cheating."

"She saw James playing with glass and blamed me."

"I forgot our anniversary."

Stuff like that.

On Christmas Eve, Draco was preparing for a day he hoped and expected to spend alone, when Harry knocked his familiar rhythm on the front door. With a playful sigh, Draco dropped the tinsel onto the kitchen table and went to the door.

"She kicked you out on Christmas Eve? Ouch. May I ask why?" asked Draco, smirking.

Harry grimaced. "I confessed to something I shouldn't have." Harry – since when did Draco call him Harry? – lifted up his suitcase and allowed Draco a sad smile. "So here I am. Again."

Draco smiled back at Harry apologetically and stepped back to allow him into the house. As usual, Harry flopped onto the sofa and slipped into a deep sleep, and Draco watched him for a few minutes before tiptoeing up to his bedroom. That night, however, was different.

Draco woke to a knock on the door. His bedroom was absolutely freezing, and the wind was howling like a deranged banshee outside, so Draco pulled his duvet around him like a cocoon and hopped over to the door, which he opened with his elbow due to the fact he couldn't risk the cold long enough to let go of the duvet.

Harry stood in the dark hall, his skin pale and his hair even more rumpled than usual, his trunk at his feet. "Your power went out."

"I see that. Why are you here then?"

"Your power went out," Harry repeated, as if he hadn't made his point clear enough the first time.

"So?"

"Your central heating went out, too. It's winter."

Draco grimaced. "Do you want to go back to your wife?"

"I'll freeze out there, even just for a little while! Also, I doubt she'd let me back in after what I said."

"Do you—?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it."

They stood in silence for a few minutes in the glacial house until Draco said, "You can share my bed, if you like."

Harry's face paled even more, and then flushed crimson. "Wh-what?"

"You heard," Draco mumbled, his face blushing too.

"I, uh…"

"Do you want to freeze or not?" Draco snapped.

Harry shook his head vigorously.

With a little sigh, Draco returned to his bed, dumped the duvet back onto it and lifted up one corner, indicating that Harry could join him. Which he did.

Harry shuffled onto the bed, so far away from Draco he was teetering off of the edge of the mattress, and Draco couldn't help feeling a bit insulted.

"Whatever disease you're scared of catching, it's not contagious," Draco hissed.

Harry looked hurt fleetingly, but then he grinned and scooted along the bed until he was cuddled up against Draco. "You want me to do this, then?"

Draco couldn't reply. He couldn't even breathe, let alone reply.

"'Night, Draco," Harry murmured in Draco's ear.

Wrapped in the warmth of each other, they fell asleep.

Draco cracked an eye open and winced as a sudden surge of light them. The blinding light was the first thing he registered – the gently firm hand on his abdomen was the second. Draco yelped and wriggled away from whoever was in his bed. His sudden awakening was disorientating.

Then he remembered.

"I know," chuckled his bed intruder. "I was shocked too."

Draco turned onto his other side so he could look at Harry in the eye. His angrily green eyes. "Many girls would kill to be me right now. I have Harry Potter in my bed."

Harry removed his hand from Draco's abdomen – which was probably the best option, if Harry didn't want Draco to spontaneously combust – to swat at his upper arm. "Don't flatter yourself." Then, he grinned and rolled onto his back. "I need to get dressed."

Salazar, Draco thought desperately, don't talk about getting dressed near me. "Get dressed out here. I'll go into the bathroom."

Harry nodded, so Draco squirmed out of his bed, grabbed his clean clothes and dragged his lazy body into the bathroom. He needed time to think. As he pulled his night-shirt over his head, he contemplated what happened.

He slept with Potter (technically). What was up with that?

He was in love with Potter.

He wanted to be more with Potter

What the hell was happening to him? Why couldn't he be the frosty yet solemn prince he was at Hogwarts? The one that could hide his romantic feelings and snog some girl to take his mind off of things. But Draco knew he couldn't be that person again. It was sad, really.

Draco whipped into his clean clothes, washed his face and left the bathroom to see a very shirtless Harry. His chest was even better than Draco imagined it would be. Harry may have been lean, but his willowy frame was hiding a lot. He had a six-pack! Why couldn't Draco have a six-pack?

"Speechless, Malfoy?" Harry teased, grabbing a grey t-shirt off of the dresser.

"Don't make me laugh, Potter."

Harry chuckled anyway and yanked the shirt over his head. Then, without breathing, he approached Draco and leaned closer. His voice was less than the merest whisper against Draco's ear, his hushed breath warm against the sensitive skin.

"Merry Christmas, Draco."

Harry leaned back, clutched the handle of his trunk and left swiftly with it. Despite that, Draco was certain that brief, blushing, perfect moment was the best Christmas present he'd ever been given. Draco was still staring at the bedroom door after him, the skin on his abdomen burning under the memory of Harry's hand, until Draco caught sight of the dresser.

The third drawer was open.

Hesitantly, Draco approached, and when he leaned down to investigate the contents of the usually clear water he saw the thin black threads of a memory, little wisps of what it contained. Harry and the Weaselette. The little uneasy feeling of watching in on something private wrenched at Draco's gut, but it didn't stop Draco watching the Potter's through his bedroom window, and it didn't stop his face submerging in the water.

He was cast down into the depths of the memory, and when he settled into a scene, he was next to a sparkling Christmas tree. Presents of all different sized were tucked neatly under it, wrapped in paper of all different patterns and hues. He was, he assumed, in the Potter's living room, which contained two black leather sofa's (baby food never truly comes out, even with the best cleaning charms), a coffee table, a variety of exotic flowers and a fireplace. On the fireplace was a little sock – not a stocking – probably capable of fitting a baby's foot.

Suddenly, Weaselette walked in, her ginger hair tied in a ponytail, and a tiny ebony-haired baby tucked into her arms. It didn't have his eyes. It had his hair though.

"Look, James! Presents!" Ginny whispered.

James gurgled and his brown eyes – Ginny's eyes, not Harry's – glittered. Ginny beamed at him and they kneeled down together near the tree, eyes feasting hungrily on the presents.

Harry wandered in, his hands raking through his messy hair, his beautiful eyes gazing upon his wife and his six-month-old son.

"Harry, love!" Ginny cried, grinning wider. "We were just about to open presents. Care to join us?"

Harry grinned rather half-heartedly and kneeled beside his family. James's was straining under his mother's hands to try and rip the paper off of one of the bright presents.

"James, no, that's Mummy's," Ginny whispered. She pointed at a teal-coloured present in the shape of a teddy. "That one's yours." She grabbed the gift and handed it to James, before glancing up at Harry. "You've been acting very odd lately. Is something wrong?"

Harry took Ginny's hand – to Draco's disgust. "I have to tell you something. It's important."

Ginny nodded, put a Shield Charm around the fire and sat James on the sofa with the gift he was determined to unwrap. After that, she kissed his forehead and joined Harry in the corner of the room.

"Ginny, there's someone else," Harry muttered.

Ginny giggled. "Very funny, Harry. It's December, not April."

"Ginny, I'm not joking."

Ginny's smile began to slip away, and she whispered, "You're lying."

"Ginevra…" Harry reached to grab her hand but she tugged it away.

"Who is it?" she yelled.

"Malfoy," said Harry. "But baby, don't shout. James."

"Like you give a damn about James. You're rarely even in the house. I bet you've already got the little slut in bed, haven't you?" snapped Ginny.

Harry's temper was quite obviously rising. "I would be in the house more often if you didn't lock me out all of the time! It's my house too! And no, I haven't got him in bed. Do I look like that sort of person?"

"I'm not sure anymore." Ginny gave a little gasp and the tears started pouring down her face. "Harry, who do you love more? I swear, if you stay, I'll forgive you, I will, but please… If you love him then… then…"

Draco was desperate to know the answer, but a warm hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him out of the memory. When he straightened up, the water trickling down his face and dripping from his eyelashes, he saw a pleasantly calm Harry staring at him.

"So you saw it," Harry whispered.

Draco nodded. "Why are you back?"

"I forgot to clear out the Pensieve."

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. He cupped his hands on each side of Harry's face, which was flecked with a slight scattering of stubble. "You left it there on purpose. You wanted me to find out this way."

Harry didn't say anything, so Draco kissed him.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and Harry's gently wound around Draco's waist. At the beginning it was chaste, but it deepened until Draco could barely breathe. Harry arched himself forward to put a new angle onto the kiss, and Draco's teeth softly worried Harry's lower lip. It was everything Draco had ever dreamed of for years but better. Harry's breaths in his mouth, Harry's hands on his waist, Harry… It was so real.

Draco crushed his mouth harder onto Harry's and began backing up to the bed, not breaking the rhythm of their lips as he did so. Harry, however, pulled back as the backs of his thighs brushed the bedframe.

"Draco," Harry breathed.

"Yes?" Draco replied breathlessly against Harry's mouth.

Harry untangled himself from Draco and stared at him. "I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Too late now." Draco leaned in again.

"No!" Harry wrenched himself completely from Draco's grip. "Draco, I'm moving away! Don't try and find me. I love you, I do, but I love her more. Ginny and James – they're my everything. Forget about me. I'll be the Boy Who Lived and you'll be the Malfoy heir. Get married, have children, be happy. Please. Don't try and find me."

"Harry, that's cruel and I need you."

"Don't try and find me."

He left.

Draco collapsed into a dirty bar seat at the nearest Muggle bar he could find. The thrum of drunken voices was lazy in his ears and the bad quality music pounded out of the speakers dotted unevenly around the room. He'd already been felt up at least three times that he was aware of, and was quite sure that wouldn't be the end of it for the night. However, he hoped to get drunk enough not to care.

"What you want?" asked the barman.

"Beer," said Draco.

"You over eigh'een?"

Draco shot him a withering look.

"Alright, alright, keep your 'air on, matey." The barman filled a filthy glass with beer and shoved it over the bar to Draco. The water sloshed out of it over the sides, and Draco only just managed to yank his hands away before the space where they were was sploshed with beer. "Ain't my fault. There's still some in there. Drink up."

Draco gingerly took the mug and sipped its contents. It wasn't as horrible as he feared.

"You lost one too?" asked the woman beside him. She pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear and smiled sadly at him.

Draco gestured to his half-empty cup. "You mean the beer?"

"No! Your true love."

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"Her hair was so soft and voluptuous. She was beautiful. I was in love with her, but she wouldn't leave her ginger husband for me. Eventually I gave up. Slytherins, unlike Gryffindors, know when then game is over. Don't they, Malfoy?" Her eyes twinkled.

"How do you know me?" asked Draco.

"I'm Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's sister."

"And you're gay?"

"Bi."

Draco thought for a second. "You wouldn't be talking about Granger, would you?"

Astoria snorted but didn't deny it. "And you would be talking about Harry Potter."

"I didn't say anything of the sort!" Draco glared at Astoria.

Astoria sighed and gave a little breathy chuckle. "Everybody knew."

"I've given up now, anyway." Draco took a sip of his beer. "Slytherins know when the game is over."

Astoria smiled. "You should come and visit me sometime. I live just down the road from here, in those apartments that used to be illegal offices."

"Will your sister be there?"

Astoria laughed. It was rather loud, but as all of the people around her were drunk, nobody noticed. "She wouldn't be caught dead in a Muggle apartment."

"Good," Draco chuckled. "I never liked her anyway. Only, don't tell her I said that."

"It'll be our secret," Astoria whispered.

Draco smiled slowly.

Reviews much appreciated. Thank you for reading!