Moving Day Mishap
Disclaimer: The boys belong to the lovely J. K. Rowling.
Moving Day Mishap
Moving was not a task that was enjoyed by one Harry James Potter, Auror, which was why he’d hired a moving company to do the job for him. It had seemed to make the most amount of sense, allowing someone else to take his belongings and furniture from his flat and apparate them to the new flat. It should have been easy, and it should have gone without error. Apparently, should did not always happen, not when you were Harry Potter.
Harry floo’d home from work, fully expecting his new flat to be ready for him, and that he would be able to relax in front of the plasma screen telly. What he saw when he arrived was a wholly different story. Where his comfortable, if a little worn, black couch should have sat he found a white leather sofa, his comfortable La-Z-Wiz chair replaced by a white love seat that matched the new sofa, both resting on a large area rug in shades of brown. On the mantle, he found elegant crystal figurines of dragons and wizards, and on a closer look, he could see that they were muggle in origin.
In the center of the mantle, however, stood a photograph of Harry catching the snitch in his last year at Hogwarts. He could still remember that game, the way he’d managed to grab the Snitch after the game had gone on for seven hours. It was the longest game he’d ever played, and it had even come as a surprise to him when he’d caught the snitch. He’d spent most of his time admiring his rival, and his unrequited crush, Draco Malfoy.
A bookcase against the far wall held a collection of books, ranging from potions and textbooks, to Shakespeare, and even a few Stephen King novels. Moving from the living room to the dining room, Harry shifted his wand from his back pocket to hand, and looked around cautiously. A cherry wood dining set filled the room, contracting with the pine hardwood floor nicely. The chair seats were covered in a soft cream coloured velvet, and in the center of the table was a runner in the same colour. By this point, Harry was certain that there was a mix-up. Nothing here looked even remotely familiar, yet a small part of his brain was still mulling over just why there had been a photograph of him.
The bathroom was the same as the rest of his flat; decorated in creams that bordered on a pale gold, with chocolate browns and rich reds to accent. The effect was soothing, comforting. It was something that Harry would never have picked out for himself, and yet he found that it was exactly what he wanted. It was a shame none of it was his. The crowning jewel of the flat, however, was the bedroom. The king-sized four-poster bed and the large mirror that hung opposite dominated it. The same soft cream had been carried through, but where before it was accented in the warmest of browns and reds, there was no the coolness of green and silver.
The curtains that hung around the bed were silken, and Harry’s hand itched to touch, caress, to simply feel. And when he reached out to do so, he sighed, the green silk felt like water sliding over his hand. The velvet of the comforter called out to him, and with a muttered Tempus Harry sighed and slowly sank onto the bed, relaxing as he did so. It was, after all, too late in the evening to be calling the moving company, and it had been a long day. ‘Just for tonight,’ he reassured himself as he slipped out of his clothes and into the bed.
-oOo-
Morning came too early for Harry, and he frowned, grateful that he didn’t have to work today. Since the war had ended, it seemed that Harry was busy all the time, rounding up Death Eaters, and as of two nights before the last Death Eater was arrested. It was a relief, and at the same time, it brought a pang of sadness to Harry. He had served his purpose in the war, losing so many people he cared for in the process. Sirius, Dumbledore, and Ron had been among the first to fall. Ginny had gone insane after being captured and exposed to the Dementors for too long and Hermione had lost the use of her legs and now made do with a chair akin to the muggles wheelchair. It was for her that Harry had moved to the new flat, allowing her the ability to visit whenever she liked without needing his assistance to get around.
Harry shifted in the bed, marveling at how soft it was, when the previous night came back into focus and his eyes snapped open. Yes, he was still under cream satin sheets, with a silver comforter, and green silk curtains surrounding him. So last night couldn’t have been a dream. It was at this time that it occurred to Harry that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to not floo the moving company last night, as he now had no clean clothing to wear. ‘Well, I already slept in whomever’s bed this is, what harm could it be to see if they have anything that I could borrow to wear?’
He stumbled towards the wardrobe and was surprised to see that the clothing inside was almost his size, if just the slightest bit too big. Running his hand over the clothing inside, he was unsurprised to note that it felt like only the finest, and he had a suspicion that they would the height of fashion as well. He picked out a pair of trousers and a button-up at random, quickly dressing. He was starting to suspect that he knew whose belongings these were, the only thing that was still confusing him was that bloody picture.
-oOo-
Still confused after a quick breakfast, Harry floo’d to Hermione’s office. She had been the one to adapt the wheelchair to suit the purpose of Witches and Wizards, and since then she had been adapting muggle inventions for use in the Wizarding World. He was still puzzling over the entire situation when he tumbled out of the fireplace on the other end, landing in a heap on the floor.
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione smiled, her chair gliding around the desk so she could help him to stand. “What brings you here? And don’t you look nice; do you have a date today?” She was still rambling on as Harry just grinned.
“No, Hermione, I don’t have a date tonight, these aren’t even my clothes. That’s why I’m here.” He threw himself down into the nearest chair and sighed, running one hand haphazardly through his hair.
“Well, what happened; whose clothes are they?” Hermione settled back to listen, conjuring some tea for the two to drink.
“I hired that moving company; you know the one that just opened up. I had an owl flyer from them, and they seemed like a good one anyway, reasonable rates and they were willing to set everything up while I was at work. So I got home last night, but it wasn’t my stuff. It was someone else’s, and well, I think I know who, but there’s this picture, and I don’t understand.” He took a deep breath, and sipped at his tea.
“Well, whose clothes are they then? You said you think you know who,” she paused, waiting for an answering nod before continuing. “If you think you know whose things you have in your flat you should contact them and see if perhaps they have yours, Harry. After all, if you’re wearing their clothes they’re probably wearing yours. And we both know that anyone who would own an outfit like that,” she gestured at what Harry was wearing, “would not likely be pleased with your wardrobe.”
Harry grimaced at the thought, and nodded. “You’re right. I should probably look him up. I’ve got his address on file at the office,” he stood, still muttering as he grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder. “Thanks Hermione!” he called before stepping through the flames towards the office and then to see whether his suspicions were correct.
Hermione smiled, waving away Harry’s untouched tea and shook her head. She’d done what she could.
-oOo-
Harry stood outside the upscale flat, just on the outskirts of Wizarding London, and waited for an answer to his knock. Time passed by slowly, and when what felt like five minutes, but was really only thirty seconds, passed the door finally opened revealing a slender young man. Harry swallowed, his eyes lingering over the bare torso on display in front of him. And were those his trousers? He’d never imagined that they could look so deliciously sinful, just hanging off slender hips, and dipping low enough to tantalize…
A soft cough brought his mind back on track, and Harry looked up, green eyes locking with grey ones. He swallowed hard. Twice. “I think there was a mix-up with the moving company. They… uhh…” Harry’s eyes wandered lower, caressing the bare chest in front of him and he could feel the heat pooling in his lower abdomen, and found himself attempting to will his erection away. The trousers were tight enough to show his excitement, and he could feel his cheeks flushing.
“Potter, my eyes are up here.” Was that voice tinted with amusement? Harry’s eyes flew upwards and he was shocked to see the small smile that was playing on those cruel lips. “You may as well come in, can’t have you standing out there making me look bad. Merlin, did you have to put that shirt and those trousers together? Are you colour-blind, Potter?” A slim, aristocratic hand waved him in, and Harry had to force away images of that hand touching him, wrapping around him, stroking him to comple-no! He had to stop thinking like that. It was bloody buggering Malfoy, for crying out loud! Another swallow and Harry remembered to breathe as he stepped past Malfoy to enter the flat.
And there, there in the living room was his La-Z-Wiz chair, and somehow Harry found himself remembering the white leather set, and thinking how good it would look with Draco curled up in it, head thrown back as he knelt between his legs. Harry groaned, fisting his eyes as he tried to stop the thoughts. Draco stepping close enough that Harry could smell him, his aftershave, and the underlying scent that was simply Draco, didn’t help any. “Well, I, uhh, our stuff got mixed up in the move and Hermione thought I should find you... that is, the person whose stuff I got, and tell them so we could switch back. And what is with that picture. You hate me. You’ve always hated me. SO why do you have a picture, let alone that picture?” The words tumbled out and Harry took a deep breath, stepping backwards and away from Draco.
And then Draco’s hands were in his hair, his lips on his and it was magic, it was perfect, and Harry began to suspect that this was living. He groaned, his own hands lifting to entangle in Draco’s hair, kissing him back as though his very life depended on it, his body pressed flush against him. Somehow they tumbled towards the bedroom, tongues entwined, dueling in each other’s mouths as they fell on Harry’s bed, reminding Harry again of how soft Draco’s bed had been, how nice it was.
Somehow, they managed to shed their clothes without breaking contact, and Harry ran his hands across Draco’s chest, tweaking those nipples, swallowing Draco’s gasp of shocked pleasure into his own mouth as he nipped at his lower lip. He explored Draco’s body with his hands before desperately tearing his lips away and following his hands, tongue darting out to taste at the pale, perfect flesh beneath him. Draco’s soft gasps, and moans spurred Harry on, enticing him to seek out those precious sounds, and when Draco finally exploded, he was flipped over and Draco endeavored to do the same. And Merlin, Harry groaned, he could certainly get used to this.
It seemed like no time had passed before Harry was buried in Draco, and they were moving together, their bodies synchronized as though they had been performing this dance for years instead of this being their first time together. Harry had his hand wrapped around Draco, and when they came, they came together, crying out each other’s names. Harry rolled over and curled up against Draco, arms tightening as they snuggled against each other, both seemingly at peace.
-oOo-
Harry groaned, and shifted against Draco, a small smile playing over his lips as he looked over at his lover. Merlin, it felt good to be able to say that. His lover… He’d always imagined this, but to have it actually happen… “I’ll have to thank the moving company…” He grinned, and was startled when Draco’s eyes opened and looked up at him, amusement shining in those eyes.
“You already have.”