FIC: Colliding by Design (Harry/Draco) 1/2

[asterie_smiles]

Title: Colliding By Design
Author: asterie_smiles
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 21493
Summary: Draco Malfoy has used his time under house arrest to launch a promising career in interior design, and Harry Potter has inherited a magical house in desperate need of renovation. It’s an age-old story, brought to you with a little “help” from Witch Weekly Magazine. [EWE]
Betas: minnow_53 and Miss Jayne, who probably had horrible flashbacks to my teenage Drarry days when I first told them about this fic. If nothing else, there's a lot less angst here!

Posting in two parts for length - if I were you I'd go read on AO3 anyway!



And this is the room
One afternoon
I knew I could love you
‘King of Carrot Flowers Pt.1’, Neutral Milk Hotel

i

Victims’ Voices Heard in Malfoy Trial

In an unexpected twist at the Wizengamot today, victims who were detained and tortured at Malfoy Manor spoke out in favour of leniency at the trial of young defendant Draco Malfoy.

His father, Lucius Malfoy, has been sentenced to eight years’ imprisonment in Azkaban for his role in the atrocities of the war; and his mother, Narcissa, received the lesser sentence of six months’ house arrest at Malfoy Manor, largely due to testimony in her favour from war hero Harry Potter.

Today, the youngest Malfoy also received a sentence of house arrest, in his case for twelve months. Many expected Draco to be sent to Azkaban, following reports that he was instrumental in aiding You-Know-Who in his efforts to invade Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1997, as well as participating in the torture of prisoners at his family home.

However, victim-impact statements today painted a very different picture of his actions. Among those who spoke on Malfoy’s behalf were esteemed wand-maker Garrick Ollivander, and Luna Lovegood, daughter of Quibbler editor Xenophilius.

Lovegood, showing great courage and poise for one so young, claimed, “Draco hated watching us being tortured, and was sometimes physically sick when he was forced to stay in the room... When [You-Know-Who] told him to hurt us, he clearly didn’t want to, but only did what he was told because he was threatened, too.”

Ollivander stated, “I can tell when a wand and its user are reluctant, and every harmful spell cast on us by Malfoy was done under duress.”

Harry Potter’s evidence during the trial itself may also have come into play. On the record, he gave damning testimony about Malfoy’s role in the prior invasion of Hogwarts, but also claimed, “When [Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and I] were brought into Malfoy Manor, he refused to identify us to his father, to save us from being handed over to [You-Know-Who]. The whole time we were there, he was completely terrified.” When questioned about Malfoy’s role in the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter stated, “Malfoy was clearly hiding from the whole thing...he even told his friends not to kill me. He may have said it was because [You-Know-Who] didn’t want me dead, but it was clear to me that he was in over his head from the beginning and wanted no part of it.”

When the Wizengamot handed down the sentence, representative Elphias Doge stated, “While we cannot deny that Malfoy made the choice to become a Death Eater and follow in his father’s footsteps, it is clear that the full implications of this decision were beyond his understanding as he was not yet of age. Indeed, many adult wizards might well have acted in the same way, had they been threatened with torture by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We must not take Malfoy’s actions lightly, especially as there is no dispute that he gave Death Eaters access to Hogwarts School, but we must also remember that he is still very young. To sentence him to Azkaban would be to remove any opportunity for rehabilitation.”

Malfoy chose to respond to the court and his victims with unexpected grace, saying in his prepared statement, “I sincerely regret my actions during the war, and am very grateful to everyone who offered their support, however little I deserve it. I know many people would like me to be sent to Azkaban, but I hope they see there is poetic justice in the fact that I will be imprisoned in the house where the Death Eaters imprisoned so many others.”

During his sentence, Malfoy will be working with assigned officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as specialist Mind-Healers from St Mungo’s Hospital, in the hopes that by the time he is released next December he will be able to put his past behind him and become a productive member of society. Whether this is possible for the son of such a prominent follower of You-Know-Who remains to be seen.

ii

The rumours began in April. Harry saw the first article in the papers when he got home from a grueling all-night training session on ‘seeing while remaining unseen’. He’d been hoping to have some breakfast - or did it count as dinner? - and go straight to bed, when the Daily Prophet landed right on top of his toast.

Pansy Parkinson, attempting to reinvent herself by writing freelance gossip columns while living out her own house arrest, reported that items from Malfoy Manor had started to show up in auction houses across the country, and even in some of the more reputable establishments in Knockturn Alley. The Greengrass family purchased a handcrafted self-playing piano at great expense, Pansy claimed, in hopes of securing a marriage between their youngest daughter and Draco Malfoy. It shocked much of pureblood society to hear that they’d been turned down flat, but at least the Malfoys threw in a triptych of priceless tapestries woven from Demiguise hair to soften the blow.

Her source witnessed a crew of house-elves Apparating in and out of the property, dumping crockery and other small items outside the gates. The next week, apparently, the source saw a bonfire that appeared to contain antique living and dining sets. The week after that, a crew of half-giants allegedly demolished the entire entrance hall and half of the east wing.

Witch Weekly's ‘celebrity divination analyst’ (and Hermione’s not-so-secret guilty pleasure), Madam Mimosa, wrote a double-page spread about the alignment of the planets and the soil in Wiltshire. Apparently, these were causing residents to be ‘ravaged by a desire for change’. “The plight of the Malfoys is a desperate one,” she concluded, “but if they bury black tourmaline crystals on the four corners of their property while the planets are in their grand cross alignment in August, this malady will pass, and they will be able to restore the former dignity of their name.”

There had been silence for a while after that. Harry knew, because some deep - and incredibly annoying - instinct made him scan the papers for any mention of Malfoy now that he was back on the radar.

“You should be relieved, mate,” Ron remarked, “the rate things are going, I expected him to stab his mum with a goblin-silver butter knife and have her body hauled out by werewolf day-labourers.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, it was all being blown up out of proportion. If you were locked up in a house where you’d witnessed people being tortured, wouldn’t you want to clear it out a bit? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction to trauma.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re talking about the world’s biggest drama queen - this is part of some plan to get himself back in the news. He’s probably Parkinson’s mystery source, too.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Can we talk about something else for a bit? I’m enjoying the break from seeing his name in the papers, so let's just have a Malfoy-free lunch, yeah?”

He recognised the look Ron and Hermione exchanged from his Sixth Year at Hogwarts, and he didn’t like it.

iii

A New Man(or)
By Amelia Emmensworth
Draco Malfoy reveals unrecognisable family home

Following months of intrigue, Draco Malfoy today made a statement announcing that the renovation of historic Malfoy Manor is now complete. He called a press conference at the gates of the sprawling grounds, which have also been given a new lease of life. Malfoy, pictured today (right), and following his sentencing last November (left), appears to have matured a great deal since that last public appearance. His physique suggests that he has undertaken much of the work on the premises himself, and his manner is very much that of the head of the household, a vast difference from the scared child we remember from his trial.

“I know many pureblood families would shy away from destroying so much of historical value, and some auctioneers with whom I’ve been dealing have said as much - but unless you were present during the atrocities of the war, it is impossible to understand how much the Manor’s previously proud history has been irrevocably tainted,” Malfoy announced. “I really wanted to tear the whole thing down, but its status as a Grade 4 listed building of magical heritage - as well as centuries-old warding spells - preclude that. We know many members of the press and public are curious to see how much the Manor has changed, and so we will be inviting a select few to a Halloween Ball to commemorate the end of the Wizarding Wars and mark a new beginning, not only for the Manor but also for the Malfoy family.”

I was lucky enough to get a look inside the Manor before its official unveiling, and I must say the results are breathtaking. Gone are the intimidating heavy hardwoods and walls of portraits. Instead, we have brighter wallpapers and large-scale art pieces: in fact, all the previously dark spaces are now flooded with light, which is not only a strong political statement but also a strong aesthetic.

The stately architecture and high ceilings lend themselves well to this lustrous palette, and the simpler - but no less exquisite - furnishings serve to accentuate the grandeur of the house while also creating a more approachable atmosphere: it certainly stands apart from most other historic pureblood residences. However, while I myself was pleasantly surprised to witness what the Malfoy family has accomplished, it remains to be seen whether the wider magical communities will be accepting of what some are calling ‘the rejection of a noble heritage’.

One must also ask, with the end of his year-long house arrest imminent, will Draco Malfoy and his mother be enjoying the fruits of their labour? Or is Mr. Malfoy’s reference to the residence simply as ‘The Manor’ a sign of more change to come?

For never-before-seen pictures of the new Malfoy Manor, make sure you pick up September’s special edition of Witch Weekly Homes!

iv

“You’re not seriously thinking of going,” Ron said, not even phrasing it as a question.

“I am, as a matter of fact,” Harry replied, unfolding the invitation to look again. “He invited us as a sign of good faith; it’d be rude not to.”

“Mate, you’ve skipped tons of Ministry things to avoid being the token war-hero. He just wants to show off that he knows you. It’s all about pushing his social standing back up by flaunting the fact that he has Harry Potter at his party.”

“Actually, he’s invited quite a few people from school,” Hermione interjected. “I must admit, I’m not dying to go back to that place - but I’m also incredibly curious to see how it’s changed. Not to mention how much Malfoy’s changed. We all received his apology letters; I think it’ll be good to show that we support him if he’s trying to start afresh.”

“But we don’t support him. Do we?” Ron asked. “I mean, I’m all for him admitting he was on the wrong side, but he was still a prick at school. Just because he’s reformed or whatever on paper doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a good person.”

“He’s been quite nice in the letters. I mean, still... I dunno, snarky?” Harry shrugged. “But when it’s directed at other people he’s actually pretty funny.”

“Hold on, letters?” Ron put his pint down and gave Harry a stern look. “Since when were we replying to him?”

“Wait, you didn’t?"

“Well, yeah, but ‘Mione helped me put something together to say, ‘thanks for writing, appreciate the sentiment, bye’. She crossed out all my ferret references, too,” he added, mournfully. “But I didn’t get a penpal out of it.”

Harry pushed his hair back from his face and sighed. Ron’s scrutiny was less intense than Hermione’s, but he wouldn’t let go of a topic if he felt strongly about it, especially after a few drinks. “He’s hardly a penpal. I sent the same kind of thing: thanks, tell your mum I said thanks as well. I just, sort of, wrote again when there was all that stuff in the news. Wanted to make sure he wasn’t actually going nuts. Malfoy may have been a nightmare at school but I thought I at least owed it to him and Narcissa, after everything that happened.”

Ron sighed, picked up his drink, put it down again. “You can’t just leave things well enough alone, can you? I thought you said you were grateful he’d been sentenced and you didn’t have to worry about what he was up to ever again. But here you are writing to him, apparently often enough to go beyond pleasantries and into ‘snarky’ remarks.”

Thankfully Hermione intervened at that point. “Well, moral questions aside; Padma, Parvarti, Lisa and I had lunch the other day and looked through some of the Witch Weekly Homes special edition, and we all want to go just to see what it’s like.”

Ron shook his head. “I thought you and your friends were different, ‘Mione, but maybe all women are obsessed with houses and nesting after all.”

Hermione smacked Ron on the arm, hard, and Harry didn’t have to admit that he too had spent some of Sunday poring over the pictures of the unrecognisable Manor, wondering whether Malfoy could use his newfound decorating skills to get some of the more stressful paintings out of Grimmauld Place.

v

No sooner had they stepped into the - admittedly impressive - entrance hall than they were accosted by Draco Malfoy himself.

“Potter, Weasley, Granger, welcome. It’s lovely to see all of you,” he proclaimed.

“Lovely’s a strong word,” Ron said, but he grudgingly let Malfoy shake his hand.

Malfoy gritted his teeth and turned to Hermione instead. “Granger, I know it must be especially difficult for you to be here,” he told her seriously. “I very much appreciate your coming.”

She nodded in response, clearly thrown. “I’m glad you changed the house,” she replied at last. “It shows you have a conscience, that you couldn’t live with what happened here.”

“Was it his conscience, or was he just bored and splashing around his dad’s cash?” Ron wondered aloud.

“Think what you like, but Witch Weekly Homes are calling me a ‘design prodigy’ so I must have done something right,” Malfoy said lightly. He seemed to be working really hard to be polite to Ron - Harry had to concede that his friend wasn’t making it easy.

“Potter,” he said, finally turning his attention to Harry, “thanks for writing. Mother’s very pleased that I’m ‘starting anew with some good influences’, and I’ve been relieved to have someone to talk to other than the house-elves. Not that your grasp of grammar is much better than theirs,” he added with that familiar smirk, but he didn’t sound entirely malicious, which felt like progress to Harry.

Hermione looked torn between defending her friend or the house-elves, and Harry thought it would be best to move things on before she could make up her mind. “No problem, really. It’s actually good to see you.” He was surprised to find that he meant it.

Ron seemed horrified at the fact that Harry and Malfoy were having a relatively friendly exchange: he was looking from one to the other as if they were a couple of giant spiders playing tennis.

Malfoy lowered his voice slightly. “Also, since you’re here... Pansy’s out of house arrest now and trying to use me to get a permanent position at Witch Weekly. You all know her; I don’t suppose I could ask you to head her off if she tries to sneak away and look round the rest of the house? It’s off limits for a reason.”

“Hah, I told you so!” Ron crowed. “He’s got hundreds of ulterior motives for having us here.”

“An astute observation, Weasley. However,” he paused for a moment, as if composing himself, “my mother was very keen for me to invite my school friends, and I think we all know that’s a fairly small number. In all honesty, I probably know you three a lot better than most, which is thoroughly depressing. Greg’s here somewhere, probably near the buffet, and Blaise Zabini, and Millie Bulstrode, but that’s about it. Most of the others from our year understandably declined to attend.” Malfoy looked tired for a moment, and oddly sad. He glanced back at Ron. “I hope the pathetic wreck that is my social life makes you feel a bit better about spending your evening here. Enjoy the party.”

With that, Malfoy headed back into the crowd with a dramatic swish of his robes.

Harry eventually spoke. “Malfoy looks good, doesn’t he? Less - pointy. More grown up.”

“Whatever you say, mate. He’ll always be Ferret Face to me,” Ron replied. “Now, can we go and find that buffet?”

A few hours and an ill-advised amount of champagne later, Harry found the courage to catch Malfoy alone. “So, um, I was wondering if you could do me a favour,” he started, before he could chicken out. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, especially as Malfoy’s lip curled in a familiar disdainful gesture.

“A favour.” Perhaps it wasn’t disdain? Amusement, maybe? Harry had rarely - if ever - seen Malfoy amused when it wasn’t at his expense; maybe that was just what his face did.

“Yeah. Since I’m here for Halloween, making you look reputable and keeping Parkinson at bay, instead of doing something worthwhile like mourning my parents’ death.”

Malfoy smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, please. I know you must feel terribly put upon by being dragged out at all sorts of events, but I’ve seen how many petits fours you’ve put away, and I also witnessed you, Weasley, and Zabini actually standing together and laughing. Part of me does regret for your sake that this soiree is happening today, but you must admit that you’ve had fun.”

“Fun might be a bit much. But the catering’s definitely a lot better than at Ministry dos, I’ll give you that.” To be fair, Harry had no choice but to concede that point, with a drink in one hand and his third plate of dessert in the other. “I do know, though, that if you were in my shoes you’d have asked for a few favours before accepting the invitation.”

Malfoy laughed, and it actually sounded genuine. “I’ve been saying for years you’d have been an excellent Slytherin. Go on, then, what’s this favour?”

“I nearly was a Slytherin, you know,” Harry said idly.

“Really?” asked Malfoy, clearly intrigued.

Harry knew he could capitalise on this. “Yeah, actually. Maybe I’ll tell you about it if you give me a hand with the house in London I inherited.”

“The Black house?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Grimmauld Place. We’ve tried to clean it up a bit over the past few years - it was used as a sort of base during the war - but nothing really improved. I was hoping you could maybe…” Harry gestured at the unrecognisable decor all around them.

“Turn it into a masterpiece of modern wizarding design?” Draco finished for him, with no small amount of pride.

“Well, yeah, I was going to say help brighten it up a bit, but that works too.”

Malfoy sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Potter. Do you have any idea how many unbelievably wealthy and influential people have requested my services so far this evening?”

Harry felt like an idiot. Of course Malfoy wasn’t going to help him get rid of Doxys and pick out a decent sofa when he could be swanning round fancy ballrooms splashing other people’s cash on priceless antiques.

“Still, I know that when she was young my mother loved visiting her cousins at that house. You’ve probably earned a few favours, so yes, I will help you. Where would you like to start?”

Harry was acutely aware that he was just standing there blinking like a moron. The place was such a nightmare that finding somewhere to begin seemed impossible, not to mention the fact that he’d assumed Malfoy would need a lot more persuading before he had to work out the logistics.

“Um…” he said articulately, watching Malfoy’s smirk grow with every second of silence that passed.

“I assume you have no clue, and since I’m stuck here for a little while longer, why don’t you just send me an owl with any questions you have, and when I’m free to leave I’ll come round and tackle the big decisions?”

“That’s brilliant, thanks, Malfoy. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Come to think of it, I actually owe you a life debt. I personally didn’t think interior design would cut it by way of repayment, but when you put it like that…”

They both laughed, and Harry, feeling oddly exhilarated, put down his drink and held out his hand for Malfoy to shake. He didn’t know why shaking hands with Malfoy felt so meaningful. Probably because he could count on said hand the number of times they’d offered each other any respect... or maybe Harry’d just had rather a lot to drink on what was always an emotional day for him. Oh well, if nothing else he was now one step closer to stopping fresh paint from sliding off the walls of Grimmauld Place.

vi

Malfoy - how should I be cleaning the fireplaces? Every time I think I’ve got the soot off the tiles they turn black again, whether I’ve lit the thing or not.

Potter,
Don’t you have a house-elf for that sort of thing? I seem to recall Mother being especially fond of it. If you do insist on cleaning them yourself, you should be using a squeeze of murtlap essence in your solution.
I’d also recommend keeping the fire lit as much as possible while you’re there, even if you’ve got your Floo closed to visitors, because the fireplace may start to take lack of use as an insult and be deliberately uncooperative.
DM

Malfoy - murtlap essence worked; you’re a genius! Why isn’t it in any of the cleaning products already? That would’ve made my life easier. I’m trying to use the living room fire more for the Floo but the network defaults to the kitchen. Is there a way to change that?
Also, Kreacher’s the house-elf you’re thinking of - he went to work at Hogwarts and became a sort of leader there in the Battle; I think he quite liked feeling important. I felt bad asking him to move back here by himself after all that.

Potter,
Excuse my curiosity, but I thought you had decided against actually living at the Black house: why the sudden desire to open its Floo channels?
You have to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare that is the Department for Magical Transportation to switch over the main Floo. Much easier to open it as a new fireplace and tell your friends which to use. I have proposed a cleaning product containing murtlap to several major producers, but alas, they do not see it as cost-effective and would rather continue to waste people’s time with sub-par potions.
DM

Malfoy-
Living with Ron and Hermione was nice for a bit, but I thought I should give them some space to be a couple. It seemed silly to try and find my own place when I have a house (or at least, I have a house somewhere under all the dust - I swear we actually made a dent not too long ago but it’s just getting worse).
As it is, I end up staying at theirs anyway a couple of nights a week, given the state of this place. Ron won’t spend the night here until I can guarantee them a spider-free space and I haven’t even started to sort out all five million bedrooms. He says he only stayed before ‘under extreme duress’ and got really stubborn about it. Sounded a bit like you, actually. That part was a joke. I mean, he did sound like you but I don’t mean that in an offensive way. I’m giving this to the owl before I can offend you more, because I really need your help with this place.
HP

Potter,
No offense taken: in fact, I doubt Weasley could ever convey the level of disdain I would feel if you invited me to stay in a house riddled with pests.
There is a traditional, somewhat archaic, pureblood hierarchy of guest rooms, with which I doubt you’re acquainted. It’s less clear in Muggle-built houses like yours, but it can be helpful to know where to start, and which floors are likely to house which visitors. Dare I ask which room you’ve selected for yourself, and how you’re getting on with that? Or are you sleeping in the drawing room, as you reportedly did during the war, and avoiding dealing with the bedrooms entirely?
DM
P.S. If you are doing that, please don’t tell me. If you’ve faced the Dark Lord but can’t face a townhouse you should be retroactively sorted into Hufflepuff.
P.P.S. You do not have five million bedrooms; you have eight. If I can renovate a sprawling mansion with multiple whole wings (not to mention the grounds), you can sort out the Black house without unnecessary hyperbole.

Malfoy,
How did you know we stayed in the drawing room during the war?! You will be relieved to know that I am not sleeping there now.
...Or am I?
The difference between you and me is that you had some idea where to start on your house and nothing but time. I am trying not only to work every day (and prove I deserve to be an Auror by merit, not because I’m a ‘war hero’), but also deal with dozens of paint samples from shops across London, which randomly take flight to show off their colours and make everything a bloody mess.
HP

Potter,
Trying to do this by owl is ridiculous. Are you free to come and visit us for tea next week? Bring paint samples, fabric swatches, and whatever other rubbish has been foisted on you, as well as photographs of the rooms if you can get them. I would be delighted to make as many decisions as you will allow, because I have a feeling you will mess up terribly without my help. While that would be enjoyable to witness, it would be even more satisfying for me to know I was able to save you from yourself. Consider it just another installment towards our life debt - if you don’t, I may have to start charging you for my time, and I highly doubt you can afford me. That was a joke.
DM
P.S. Since interior design, though still a fledgling business, has become a rather lucrative endeavour already, I suggest you rethink your remarks about my not working every day.
P.P.S. In Harry Potter’s Hidden War, Rita Skeeter goes into great detail about you and Granger engaging in trysts on the drawing room settee while Weasley slept in a nearby armchair. Naturally, I assume every word is true.

Oh thank goodness, I need all the help I can get. I can do Thursday after work if that’s okay? Should I bring flowers or something for your mum?

Potter,
Yes, but not narcissi. She will not see the humour in that.
See you on Thursday.
Don’t make any unsupervised changes before then, please.
DM

vii

Mungo Manor?

Today, representatives from St Mungo’s Hospital issued an official statement confirming that they have taken ownership of Malfoy Manor, to be used as a rehabilitation and hospice site for long-term patients.

The press release stated: “St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is delighted to announce that the Malfoy family has donated their estate in Wiltshire for us to use as a residential facility.

“The hospital houses many patients suffering from the long-term effects of spell damage and other maladies, especially in the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, and our Healers have long asserted that many of those would make better progress outside a strictly clinical setting.

“We worked closely with the Malfoy family throughout the recent redevelopment of the Manor, and are pleased that the changes to the residence will enable us to provide living quarters, teaching spaces, gardens, and many other state-of-the-art facilities.

“St Mungo’s firmly believes that this transition will be of tremendous benefit to a large number of patients, and we are grateful for the Malfoy family’s overwhelming cooperation and support.”

It is reported that when the transfer is final, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy will relocate to one of the family’s numerous properties in France, though rumour has it Draco has also purchased premises on Laburnum Way, from which he intends to run his up-and-coming interior design business. The formerly notorious thoroughfare just east of Diagon Alley has become a hub for magical artisans in recent years, housing, among others, Five Quills Illustration Emporium, and last spring’s runaway success, The Serene Graphorn Gallery.

viii

He doubted Malfoy would be at work, let alone accepting clients at - he cast a quick Tempus and winced - six twenty-six a.m., but Harry still had to endure a couple more months of being a Junior Auror with its horrible hours, and he knew that by the time he got off work he’d be in no mood to talk about tables. He picked up a couple of pastries on his way to make the whole thing less painful for both of them, and knocked loudly on the door of Malfoy’s studio.

Malfoy answered after a couple of moments, looking rumpled and exhausted, and Harry immediately handed him a sickly-sweet mocha.

“You look like hell,” he said, unthinking. “Did you sleep here?”

Malfoy glared at him and tried to smooth his hair down, with little success, taking a large gulp of the coffee. “I think what you mean is, ‘Good morning, Draco, I’m terribly sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour’.”

Harry was unintimidated, and passed the bag of pastries over by way of an apology. “Yeah, okay, that too. My shift starts in half an hour and you said you’d have the kitchen and dining room stuff ready today, so I thought I’d see if you were in. I’m on patrol so I’ll be knackered by the time I’m done. You did sleep here, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question: Harry could see pillows piled onto a sofa in the corner, and Malfoy’s shirt was crying out for one of Molly Weasley’s extra-strong ironing charms.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” Malfoy rearranged the sofa cushions quickly and gestured for Harry to sit down.

“Why did you sleep here?”

Malfoy’s glare deepened. “You were made to be an Auror, you know. The rest of the population would say it’s too early for you to be questioning me like this.”

Harry just shrugged. “I thought you and your mum moved to France?”

“We did. But it’s France, Potter. I can Floo straight into the house - as uncomfortable as it is over that distance - because I’m keyed into the wards, but there’s no fireplace here, and by the time I was finished last night the public Floos were shut and I didn’t have the energy to deal with the International Portkey Bureau.”

Harry frowned. “That sounds inconvenient. It also doesn’t sound like the first time.”

“For crying out loud, Potter. No, it is not the first time I’ve slept here. Yes, it is a pain in the arse. However, someone requested two full size dining tables this week, and it took me till eleven last night to get your samples ready. And it’s a good thing I did too, since you’re here so bloody early.”

Malfoy waved his wand and a box flew over to land - unnecessarily heavily - in Harry’s lap. When he opened it, he saw a stack of incredibly detailed miniature dining tables, each one not only a different type of wood, but different in style and detail, right down to the tiny carvings. He picked up a particularly intricate example and held it up to the light. “Bloody hell, Malfoy. These are incredible.”

Malfoy sighed but couldn't help a smug smile slipping onto his face. “If you think these are good, just wait until you see the final products. Carpentry’s my speciality, you know.”

Something suddenly clicked in Harry’s head. “Like the Vanishing Cabinets.”

The smile vanished from Malfoy’s face. “Unfortunately, yes. Something from that experience has turned out positive, at least.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said automatically, but Malfoy waved it away.

“No need to apologise, Potter. Thankfully the majority of my clients will never need to know where this all started. I should have known I could count on you to make the connection, though.”

“I wasn’t… I mean, I just made the connection myself. I know you’re not, I dunno, using your powers for evil these days.” Harry winced inwardly. He couldn’t trust himself to make conversation with anyone this early, let alone Malfoy.

“Some might argue that replacing the antique tables in your house is a pretty unforgivable sin,” Malfoy said eventually.

Harry laughed, relieved and surprised. “Almost as bad as the Auror department making me come in for seven in the morning.” He checked the time again, and stood up to gather his things as the Tempus charm reminded him that he had to be at work in eight minutes. “Can I take these with me?” he asked, picking up the box of tables.

“By all means,” said Draco, muttering some incantations over the box. “So you don’t break them,” he explained in response to Harry’s quizzical look. “I should have a couple of chairs for you to test out by Thursday or so - but if you show up at this time again, I can’t promise not to embed stinging curses into the seats.”

Harry winced. “At least that’d help me stay awake.” When he got to the door, he turned round. “My chairs aren’t that urgent, you know. Try and get some rest.” He didn’t need to look back to know that Malfoy was totally ignoring him.

It was nearly eight o’clock at night by the time Harry and his partner, Jasper, had finished writing up all the irritatingly minor incidents from their shift, and even though he was shattered, Harry couldn’t stop picturing Malfoy sleeping on that sofa. He told himself he was just walking the back way round to pick up some food on his way home, but knew it was inevitable that he’d end up on Laburnum Way again. He hoped Malfoy had made it home at a reasonable time and was getting some rest, he really did, but he couldn’t deny some perverse part of him was glad to see the lights were still on in the studio. He knocked once, then pushed the door open before waiting for a response.

“You’re still here,” he said, trying not to sound accusing.

“Astute, Potter. I see why the DMLE hired you.” Malfoy sounded exhausted, and looked it, too. His hair was falling out of its usually immaculate ponytail, and his shirt was still rumpled and open at the collar. He had his wand in one hand and some kind of tool in the other - what it was for, Harry could only guess, but probably something to do with the half-made chair hovering above the workbench. “Will you let me finish before you insist on continuing this morning’s interrogation?”

Harry nodded, and went to sit down. He’d never seen Malfoy really working before. Well, he’d been involved in the design plans for Grimmauld Place of course: consultations, unnecessarily complicated ‘mood boards’, fabric samples, all of that; but it was different from seeing the man actually breaking a sweat. Manual work was far removed from his image of the aristocratic Draco Malfoy, and therefore rather unsettling, but oddly mesmerising. Every movement was careful and deliberate, but clearly well-practised, and Harry was really bloody impressed to see the bits of wood transforming into actual furniture - beautiful furniture, at that.

Eventually, Malfoy lowered the chair down onto the ground and cast some protective spells before banishing it gently into a corner.

“I was just going to pick up something for dinner,” Harry said. “I assume you haven’t eaten.”

Malfoy tried to glower at him, but it was clear he was too tired to muster any real hostility. “You brought me a pain au chocolat, if you recall.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Malfoy, that was nearly thirteen hours ago.”

Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s it. I’m popping over to the shops to get some food. You are coming to my place, because at least it has heating spells set up, you are going to eat a proper meal, and then you can Floo back to your mum’s if you’re not too shattered, or you can use one of my five million bedrooms to get an actual night’s sleep.”

“You’d make an excellent house-elf, Potter,” Malfoy said, but Harry just rolled his eyes.

“If you die of starvation while making me a dining set I’ll never live it down. Not to mention that I still need you alive to tackle the rest of the house. Get your stuff and meet me outside in ten minutes.”

ix

“You want him to move in.” There was no expression in Ron’s voice, which Harry knew was a very bad sign. “You’re going to ask Draco Malfoy to be your housemate.”

Hermione put her hand on Ron’s arm, gently. “I think we get the point, Ron.”

He turned to her, distraught. “If we have to get Harry committed, will you do the paperwork?”

“I’m not insane, Ron. And I haven’t asked him yet; I wanted to know what you thought first. Not that I couldn’t have guessed.”

“I think it’s a very kind gesture,” Hermione said, “I can’t imagine how exhausting it is to commute all the way from Bordeaux. Remember when I went to Belgium for the Summit on Werewolf Migration?” Ron rolled his eyes at Harry; they’d heard about the conference at great length. “We used the Floos to visit some of the settlements over the German border, and even that felt like being stretched too thin.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, “and he’s already round a couple of nights a week - mostly he takes Regulus’s old room, which I don’t use anyway. Says it’s the only bedroom that ‘retains some level of taste’.”

“See, that,” Ron pointed at Harry, “is just another sign that Malfoy’s dangerously deranged. You’ll end up waking up in the middle of the night to find him engraving Toujours Pur above your bed.”

Hermione shuddered. “Ron, your pronunciation is atrocious.”

Ron just shook his head and looked back at Harry. “What about when you want Ginny to move in? You can’t just have Malfoy swanning about the place.”

“Ginny and I aren’t getting back together, Ron,” Harry said for the millionth time.

“Don’t be too hasty, mate,” Ron argued. “She’s nearly done with the initial training, now; things’ll calm down a bit when she makes the Harpies’ team and then you’ll be able to - ow!”

Ron jumped - Harry thought Hermione must have kicked him under the table. “Well, you definitely won’t be getting back together if you’ve got him skulking around.”

Harry should have known this was a bad idea: it was usually better to ask forgiveness than permission with Ron. All he had to do was buy a round at the pub and do a bit of Ron’s paperwork for him, and even breaking up with Ginny was forgiven, if not forgotten. “You’ve been loads of help, thanks.”

Hermione gave Ron an intense glare, and eventually he said, “I suppose that it’s your house and you can invite Malfoy to stay for a bit if you want to.”

Harry laughed, shooting Hermione a grateful look. “Cheers, Ron, I appreciate your support. Don’t worry; he’ll probably say no, anyway.”

x

Harry was exhausted by the time they finished levitating all of Malfoy’s stuff up to the fourth floor - he’d said he’d left most of his things at his mum’s, but it seemed to Harry as if they’d been traipsing up and down the stairs for hours. He’d counted four boxes labelled ‘Haircare’ too, which seemed totally unnecessary.

“I assumed you’d want to keep using this one, so I tried to clear it out a bit,” Harry said, manoeuvering an impossibly large trunk full of shoes into the corner of Regulus’s room. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the same floor as me - I know you said I should be using the master bedroom but it still smells like hippogriff, and I’m just more comfortable in Sirius’s.”

Malfoy shuddered. “You know full well that I retracted that statement the moment I laid eyes on the place. No one should be sleeping in the master until I’ve had an army of house-elves in to do a deep clean, and I’m still stuck on the first-floor bathroom right now.”

He gave the room an appraising look, muttering what Harry recognised as measuring charms, and then started to rearrange the furniture. Getting settled in already, Harry thought. Too late to back out now.

“I’m fine up here as long as you are,” Malfoy told him, “though if your girlfriend’s going to be round all the time, I’ll need your consent to reinforce the inbuilt silencing charms on the walls.”

Harry gave Malfoy what he hoped was a scornful look. “First off, I spent just as many of my teenage years in shared dorms as you did; my silencing charms are excellent. Second, don’t you read your friend Parkinson’s magazine? Ginny and I broke up ages ago. I’ve been on a couple of dates here and there but haven’t exactly had the time for anything much, what with work and everything.” Malfoy nodded, though he still looked a bit sceptical - and why shouldn’t he, when Witch Weekly had a new story every week about Harry’s supposed conquests? He could only dream of having the energy to get through that many girls.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “Are you seeing anyone?” He couldn’t picture Malfoy bringing any snooty pureblood girls back here, not until the place was completely finished, but he didn’t relish the idea of trying to eat his breakfast while Pansy Parkinson sat across the table passing judgement.

Malfoy laughed, with a slight air of bitterness. “It’s pretty difficult to establish any kind of meaningful relationship when you’re under house arrest. I’ve had a few… encounters since my release, but no one I’ve wanted to bring home. Mother’s understanding in theory, but I don’t think she’s quite ready for me to start turning up with strange men.”

Well, that was… interesting. Harry hoped his face didn’t show how thrown he was, though when he took a second it did make a lot of sense, actually. “Well, if you do decide to, y’know, bring anyone back here, that would be okay,” he said lamely. “I mean, it’s your home too, now, I guess, and it’s none of my business, obviously, if that’s what you want to do.”

Malfoy couldn’t contain his amusement. “Your acceptance is touching, Potter. Thanks.”

Harry grinned. “Shut up, Malfoy. If this is what I get for trying to be nice to you I’m not sure I should keep bothering.”

“I can see that moving in here was a great idea,” Malfoy muttered, but he shot Harry a surprisingly reassuring smile as he moved towards the wardrobe to cast an enlargement charm on it. Harry smirked a bit - this just confirmed that the trunk after trunk of clothing they’d brought up the stairs were completely excessive. The whole gay thing should’ve been obvious, really.

xi

“Wow,” said Ron, “I barely recognise the place.”

“That was the point, Weasley,” Draco said, smugness radiating from him as he stood at the end of the hall and watched Harry usher his friends in.

Draco had got rid of the gas lamps, denouncing them as ‘more trouble than they’re worth’. He’d refused to deal with the Muggle power companies, and somehow found a legal way to dismantle and banish all the gas pipes throughout the house, replacing the lights with magical sconces that came on with a warm glow when you walked in and got brighter or dimmer with a wave of your wand.

Most of the snake-themed decor was history, though Draco kept saying the word ‘heritage’ and shaking his head so Harry consented to keeping a few bits here and there: he’d actually become quite fond of the coat hooks, which responded to Parseltongue and never once let his robes and jackets fall on the floor.

The awful painting of Sirius’s mum was finally gone too, replaced with a mirror that was very critical of Harry’s hair but overall much more pleasant, and also made the entrance hall feel bigger.

“How did you get round the Permanent Sticking Charm?” asked Hermione, clearly impressed.

“Work smart, not hard, Granger,” Draco said smugly. “I just tore out that part of the wall and had it replaced. Great Aunt Walberga’s sitting in Gringotts with some of the portraits from the Manor, probably having a lovely time.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing when Hermione walked towards the dining room muttering, “Take out the wall. Why didn’t I think of that?”

When his friends had had the chance to ooh and aah over the rather spectacular new dining table and chairs, Harry started to bring up the food from the kitchen.

Ron’s eyes brightened immediately. “This looks amazing, mate!”

“I just threw the salad together,” he confessed, “Draco borrowed his mum’s house-elf for the rest.”

“‘Draco’?” Ron mouthed at Harry, alarmed. Harry shrugged. When you were living under the same roof as someone, it just seemed weird to be still calling each other by your last names.

Hermione frowned, clearly ready to say something about passing house-elves around like objects, but Draco headed her off.

“Relax, Granger,” he said, “Sapphy was terribly excited to come. She’s learned all kinds of new recipes from the French elves, and I think she gets bored cooking for just Mother all the time.”

“Well, that’s okay, I suppose,” Hermoine conceded, still looking slightly troubled. Harry did notice her taking a second helping of the lamb, though.

“Granger, Weasley, I need your help,” Draco announced, and Ron and Hermione raised their eyebrows in terrifying unison. “I have to get Harry out of the house for a few days while I put his bedroom together. I was hoping he could stay with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry interjected quickly, glaring at Draco for springing this on them. “I can just sleep in a different room.”

“First, this is a huge undertaking, and to get it finished on schedule means working ridiculous hours. That not only means I’m likely to be in a foul mood, but also that your sleep will be disturbed, which is unfair given how busy your job is at the moment. Second, if you’re here while I’m getting it ready then you’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Merlin, why does everything he does have to be so dramatic?” Ron moaned.

“It’s not dramatic,” argued Draco, “I just want my efforts to be fully appreciated.”

“Dramatic,” Ron said, trying to disguise it as a cough.

Before the two of them could descend into a petty argument, Hermione said, “It’s fine, really, Harry, it’ll be nice to have you back for a bit. I’ve got a big presentation due for the Centaur Collaboration Committee on Friday so won’t be around much I’m afraid, but at least Ron will have some company. You might have to battle with Crookshanks though; he’s adopted your old room and you know how he is.”

“A bloody nightmare is how he is,” Ron added. “I put some Quidditch magazines in there for safekeeping and he tore them up and put the pieces in a giant pile on the middle of the bed, just to mock me.”

“I did tell you to put them in boxes,” Hermione pointed out.

“I was going to, but by the time I’d gone and found a sodding box the damage was already done. Can’t have been more than ten minutes. All four parts of the Cannons Spotlight Special, shredded into tiny pieces,” he said sadly.

“Come on, Ron, you must admit that it was at least partly your fault. Anyway, I spelled them all together again, didn’t I? You’d never guess they’d been torn.”

“But it’s not the same. All the photos are ruined now; the players won’t fly properly where the paper was ripped.”

Harry gave Draco a pleading look. “This is why I moved out. Don’t make me go back there.”

“It’s only for a week,” Draco insisted. “Thanks, you two. This will make everything much easier, especially as I have to get people in to replace half the walls, yet again. Why did everyone in the family think Permanent Sticking Charms were a good way to decorate?”

“I like Sirius’s pictures,” Harry said defensively. “We’ve talked about that. Photos of family and friends are much better than pointless artwork.”

“Art is not pointless,” Draco replied. “If you think that, you just haven’t been exposed to the right kind. I love my mother more than anyone else in the world, but if I had to choose between her picture on my wall and something by Georgianna Moonstone, it would be a nearly impossible decision.”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, and Draco and Hermione both rolled their eyes.

“She does those paintings with the gemstones,” Hermione said, as if it would ring a bell. “They’re quite beautiful, really; her use of light sources is fascinating. There are a few in the magical gallery at the Tate Modern.”

“You mean the Malfoy Wing,” Draco put in, smugly. “My family have been patrons of the arts for generations.”

“There’s a magical gallery at the Tate Modern?” Harry asked, feeling hopelessly uncultured. In his defense, he hadn’t been there since a particularly terrible primary school trip, when one of Dudley’s friends had knocked over a very expensive vase in the gift shop and blamed it on Harry. Uncle Vernon had gone through the roof when he saw the bill.

“Of course there is, Harry,” Hermione replied. “It’s through that unmarked door in the Turbine Hall, you know.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Harry said.

Ron snickered. “I’m surprised it’s an unmarked door,” he said. “If someone told me to go to the Malfoy Wing, I’d immediately head for the toilets.”

Hermione tried to give Ron a disapproving look, but in the end neither she nor Harry could help laughing.

“I could have gone to Sunday lunch at the Zabinis’ today,” Draco announced with a long suffering sigh. “They appreciate me.” But he poured them all another glass of wine, anyway.

xii

Harry took one step into the bedroom and tried to take it all in. It was breathtaking, literally, and he found he had to force himself to exhale as he noticed detail after detail. It would take a good few hours in here poking around and getting to know the place again before he’d really be able to appreciate everything, he knew that, but some touches jumped out at him. An artistic print of a snowy owl - maybe art wasn’t so bad, after all - framed pictures of his parents and friends, a carved stag standing proudly on a shelf, occasionally shaking its head to show off tiny yet ornate wooden antlers.

“I know Hogwarts was your first real home, so I tried to keep elements of that in here, but I’m physically incapable of throwing around gaudy Gryffindor colours, I’m afraid.”

Draco didn’t need to explain that: the overwhelming feeling of the room was that it was home. The walls were a pale, warm gold - Tepid Cava, Harry thought the paint sample had said - which was reminiscent of Gryffindor tower in the way a dream is reminiscent of a place; with the same atmosphere but not quite the same vibrance. There was a dark red, ridiculously comfortable-looking armchair in the corner, because Draco couldn’t help taking the piss out of the Gryffindor aesthetic just a little bit, but it fitted in with the dark wood of the rest of the furniture, which made the room look like it belonged to a real grown-up.

“I used cherrywood as the main material,” Draco continued. “It represents good fortune and new beginnings, which seemed appropriate. The oil finish on the bed-frame contains a trace amount of concentrated Dreamless Sleep Potion - I first tried it in my own room at the Manor, when the war had just ended. It’s just enough that it makes you feel rested when you settle down for the night. It should be especially effective in a bed that big, particularly a four poster; like a cocoon, I suppose. I hope that wasn’t taking liberties: I noticed your potions in the bathroom and thought this would be an elegant way to meet your needs.”

Harry paused his perusal of the room for a moment to look at Draco. He was talking more than usual, clearly nervous. Harry almost laughed - there was no way he wouldn’t love the place, but it was sort of funny to see Draco so anxious, and he thought he’d leave it another minute or so before he allayed Draco’s worries. He was also far from annoyed about the Dreamless Sleep: his nightmares had been news since he was a teenager and he was hardly going to make a fuss about something that could actually help.

“Well? What do you think?”

This is the single greatest thing anyone has ever done for me, was what Harry thought. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever really, truly had my own place and it’s perfect.

“It’s brilliant,” he said eventually. “Really, I don’t have the words… I knew you were good but this is… how did you know exactly what I wanted when I did such a rubbish job of explaining it to you?”

Draco was clearly pleased with his response. “You didn’t do that bad a job,” he replied, unconvincingly. “Besides, that’s why they pay me all those tons of Galleons. I can take any client’s wishes, even if they are for red and gold, and make them into something spectacular.”

“I didn’t just ask for red and gold,” Harry protested, but Draco just shook his head.

“‘I want it to be like Gryffindor Tower,’” he said in an unerring impression of Harry. “Warm, cosy, you know? With, uh, pictures of my friends, and my parents. I haven’t really thought much about it beyond that, sorry’.”

Harry wanted to protest, but it was a depressingly accurate rendition. He also had to admit that it was good to be in on Draco’s jokes now, even if he was still the butt of most of them.

Draco was smiling, with a slight air of smugness: Harry wasn’t sure whether it was because he’d got the disastrous design briefing dead-on or because the room had turned out brilliantly.

“You look happy,” Harry blurted out.

Something soft crept into Draco’s expression, and Harry almost had to look away.

Draco seemed to consider his response carefully, opening his mouth a few times before finally saying, “Of course I’m happy. I’m one of very few people in the world who knows exactly what Harry Potter likes in the bedroom. I’m going to make a fortune from Witch Weekly with this insight.”

They both laughed, and Harry felt it was slightly easier to breathe. He knew his smile matched Draco’s as they stood together in silence, surveying the heart of what had, in Harry’s mind, finally become his home.

xiii

H,
Pansy’s trying to get a promotion at work and says the ‘only way’ is if you let her do an exclusive look at Grimmauld Place. Apparently everyone wants to see inside your house - she tried selling it to me on the grounds that it’ll drive up my business, but I’m swimming in clients and it’s your home. What do you think?
D
P.S. I received forty equally hideous samples of brocade for the Clearwaters’ front room today. My eyes are bleeding.

D,
I’ve no idea what to say to Parkinson - I don’t understand why Witch Weekly are so desperate to see where I live. Wasn’t chasing me round to get a picture of my arse for ‘Rear of the Year’ intrusive enough for them?! I’m not crazy about the thought, to be honest, especially if she wants to get into my bedroom: the letters from crazy fans are inventive enough without them knowing what colour my sheets are.
H
P.S. If you want to escape the brocade, I’m going to the Leaky after work with Ron and the rest of our team as well as Hermione, Luna and their lot - you should come down. Lisa might be there too; I know you two love getting drunk and judging people’s outfits.

H,
I’ll try and drop by if I get these mood boards done - I would love to gouge my eyes out to avoid all this hideous fabric but will try to hold off so I can critique some fashion faux-pas for Lisa. The sacrifices I make for you people are immeasurable.
D

“Well, there’s the first fashion victim of the night. What on earth happened to you?” Draco stood at the end of the table, one eyebrow raised at Harry’s oversized DMLE t-shirt and undersized athletic shorts.

“Oh, mate, it was hilarious,” Jasper began, “we were all called out on a bust at some antique dealer’s in Knockturn. Someone owled to report a shoplifter and they sent a squad of us, just in case we could nab the owner for dealing in contraband at the same time. So we all show up, and there’s Harry, at the front, because he can’t help himself. He knocks on the door, all serious-like, and Ron and Terry go round the back alley just in case.

“No one answers. We go in, super cautious - the guy may have owled us but there’s still some dodgy shit going on down in Knockturn. Harry’s all, ‘Aurors, come out with your wand in the air!’ The whole place is dark and covered in dust sheets, really suspicious, like. Then suddenly there’s this scream like a banshee, and this thing falls on Harry, like out of nowhere. When the lights finally come on, Harry’s lying in the middle of the floor with this massive Kneazle sitting on his chest, and he’s covered in bright green paint!

“The owner’s staring at us as if we’re a bunch of nutters, so I ask him about the emergency owl and he says he never sent one. And then Ron and Terry come back round shouting that Harry’s walked up all cocky and everything - but got the wrong shop!

“So before we go to the right place, Harry tries to Vanish all the paint off his robes - but he’s in such a state that he accidentally Evanescos the entire lot! Had to slink back into the office practically starkers and nab what was left in the spare clothing bin - not that there was much choice there, obviously!”

Harry’s team laughed uproariously, and Harry tried to keep his face firmly planted on the table until they’d stopped talking about it. He chanced a glance up at Draco, who was clearly trying to find a balance between wanting to laugh at Harry’s expense and wanting to be on his side. The traitor chose the first option, but not before passing a pint Harry’s way.

“Tom says there’s a hen party coming in later,” Draco said casually. “At least they’ll get to enjoy Witch Weekly’s ‘Rear of the Year’ in action in those shorts. Did they come from the Aurors’ clothing supply or a prep school’s spare games kit?”

At least, Harry reasoned, Draco knew how to win over his colleagues. They hardly ever made Death Eater comments these days - and Harry was willing to be the butt of the joke (pun intended, he thought miserably) if that was what it took.

Harry put up with a whole hour and a half of being catcalled and ogled every time he got out of his seat before he called it a night. He told Draco to stay on if he wanted, but he insisted on heading back too - “Just so you don’t get mistaken for a rent boy on the way home.”

Harry was pleasantly tipsy, and only half-listening to Draco’s seemingly endless list of dinner suggestions - which on a Friday inevitably ended up being takeaway anyway - when Draco stopped suddenly.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Luckily he looked more amused than annoyed.

“Not really, sorry.” Harry shrugged. “We always end up getting Chinese so I zoned out after the first five or six options.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “Have I become so predictable in my old age? Fine, Chinese it is. Let me Apparate us; you’ve had more to drink than I have. You know, because of the shame and embarrassment.”

“Sad but true,” Harry agreed.

They reappeared in the living room, Harry clutching Draco’s arm for balance.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said abruptly, moving away.

Harry tugged him back by the sleeve. “Um, for what?”

“All those people staring at you, and making those remarks. Witch Weekly wanting to get into your house and into your pants. I used to think you wanted all of the fame and attention. I didn’t realise it was like this.” Draco made a sweeping gesture. “I can make all the excuses I want about being young and an idiot, but sometimes it just hits me how awful I was to you because I was a jealous brat, and I can only admit it when I’ve had a few. So…”

“You don’t need to apologise for that,” Harry said, holding Draco’s gaze. “That was years ago. You were young, and you were an idiot, and you’ve changed. Okay, I might be a little mad that you made me do a twirl so Lisa could see how tight these shorts are, but I know you weren’t being malicious so it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. It was a cheap laugh at your expense.”

“So what? We’re friends, and it was funny. Besides, if you want to talk about being famous; the main reason Witch Weekly wants to nose around this place is because you’ve made it amazing. It was barely a house before you came along, let alone a home. Give yourself some credit.”

Harry could practically see the effort Draco put into holding back from saying more, and gave him a broad smile. “See, you’re not always right. Do you want to order something to eat while I get changed?”

“Oh, thank Merlin. If you want me to Incendio that entire outfit I would be glad to.”

“Sadly it’s got to go back to the department for other people to use.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Surely no one else in the DMLE can pull off shorts that short?”

Harry grinned. “Aha, so you do think I can pull them off!”

“I never said you couldn’t - I’ll even admit that Witch Weekly may have been totally right about your arse. It doesn’t make it any less ridiculous that you - war hero, respected Ministry employee - spent most of tonight getting smashed, in hotpants.”

Harry suddenly realised that he was still holding onto Draco’s arm, standing far too close, and Draco had just - sort of - said he thought Harry had a nice arse, and Harry couldn’t tell whether he was feeling warm from the alcohol or from something else entirely. He opened his mouth, with absolutely no idea what he was going to say next, when a chime came from the Floo and he and Draco sprang apart.

“I’m going to change; you answer,” he said quickly, and practically ran out of the room.

He heard Draco exhale and pause for a second before walking towards the fireplace and muttering the charms to lift the wards and unlock the Floo. “Ginevra, nice to see you! Harry’s just popped to his room; he’ll be down in a second.”

Ginny. Shit. Harry banged his forehead against the wall a couple of times, then dashed the rest of the way upstairs.

Part 2