A/N: My first Flarry fanfic. Hope you like it!

This sucks', Harry thought, sitting up.

The bed was too bouncy. And it was fluffy.

Grumbling, Harry got up and stood by the window.

Floor felt the touch of soft, warm feet. It had never felt such tender feet before. They had always been covered in fluffy slippers that made Floor want to sneeze.

There was something special about this pair of feet. It could sense the tender, caring nature from the beat of the blood that rushed inside those stationary feet near Floor's attic end.

Floor sighed.

"Who's there?" Harry asked aloud, sure that he had heard a sigh. Diving for his wand, he switched on the light to see properly. He was alone.

Wary, he kept the lights on and sat on the windowsill.

The touch of the feet left it. For a moment Floor had felt extreme shock because these feet were the first to hear it.

But now it just felt terribly sad. So sad, in fact, that Floor sniffed.

"I said, who is there?" Harry demanded, thomping his feet on the Floor. Caught unawares, Floor let out a gasp.

Harry looked down, but there was nothing there. He wandered all over the room (Floor liked the soft feet walking everywhere on it in that room) searching for something, some small detail while his wand was at the ready, but to no avail.

Finally he set down his wand and yawned, looking at the bed in distaste. Pulling off the sheets and the pillow, he spread them onto the Floor instead and flopped down, setting his glasses on the bed.

He'd rather sleep on the Floor than on the bumpy bed that felt like the pudgy Alecto Carrow.

Floor couldn't believe its luck! The whole body was on it separated by a few sheets!

It could hear the breathing become slow and gentle as the night wore on. Floor was content. Floor cherished every minute of it.


"Good morning, Mr. Pott- What in the blazes are you doing on the Floor?!"


"Mr. Potter, did you fall off?" Tom the toothless landlord asked, his mouth agape.

"What? No, its nothing... I just.. couldn't sleep on the bed," Harry finished lamely, shoving on his glasses and blinking owlishly.

Tom gave him a strange look; it was almost pitying. "Well, here's your tea," he said, setting down the tray on the bedside table and exiting.

Harry sighed and laid back down. He had had the best sleep ever.

Mr. Potter. That was the name of that body.

Floor liked it. Floor decided to let it's consciousness now float everywhere that this Mr. Potter went.

At that moment, a connection passed through Floor and the body relxaing on it, apparently at ease. Some current, of understanding or acknowledgement, perhaps.

Neither could live without the other.

Perfectly, Harry and Floor sighed contentedly at the same moment.

A/N: Reviews are much appreciated!