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Draco opens the door to number 12 Grimmauld Place. He shucks his sodden shoes and coat and leaves his keys in the little bowl next to Harry's. He takes his wand from his pocket to wave it in a delicate pattern around his face. The look in the mirror confirms the return of his own grey eyes, blond hair, scar by his mouth and up to his throat. He takes a deep breath and finally he's home. 

"Harry?" he calls gently. There's a waft of something wonderful, rich and chocolatey, coming from the kitchen. Time to see what Harry has been up to today. 

He makes his way down the hall, following the smell. 

He finds Harry in the kitchen, flour in his black hair and a smudge of … something on his cheek. It could be butter, Draco muses. 

Harry is swaying softly to the wireless, while holding a broom like he might a dance partner. A very skinny dance partner, that is. 

It's bizarre still, seeing Harry this normal and domestic every day. 

They've been friends since everyone returned to Hogwarts for their so-called eighth year. It felt silly to hold up a childhood grudge after they've been through a war at eighteen. Awkwardly, they realised how much they actually have in common once they talked for longer than five minutes without insulting each other. 

Then after school, when Draco had trouble going outside without being verbally — or sometimes physically — attacked, or having a violent panic attack and having Howlers sent to him on a regular basis, it only felt right to move in with Harry when he offered.

The wards at Grimmauld Place are absolutely immaculate and unbreakable, since the house is still under a Fidelius Charm. The Howlers can’t find him anymore and are destroyed by the same charms that keep Harry's crazy fan mail at bay. 

Now, three years later, Draco even manages to hold a job — albeit a muggle one, far off from wizarding London. And he keeps his features hidden behind a Glamour whenever he leaves the house on his own. 

Still, Draco likes how his life has turned out so far. He has a job that he likes most of the time in a muggle animal shelter. He has wonderful friends who he can count on whenever he needs. And living with Harry is the easiest he could have imagined. Easy like breathing. 

"Draco!" Harry exclaims as he sees him. His whole face lights up as he lets go of the broom, takes Draco's hands and leads him into a twirl. 

"Did you have a good day?" he asks softly as he keeps swaying them to a very different rhythm than the one on the wireless. 

Draco gently takes over the lead, correcting their rhythm and posture. 

"You won't believe what the kittens have been up to today," he launches into a story of how the five week old kittens miraculously escaped their room, wrecking havoc all over the shelter, and how their mother had been screaming at them and all the useless humans until they all were safely back where they belonged. It had taken him and two colleagues a ridiculously long amount of time until they had them all back with their mother and made sure they were all perfectly fine and hadn't hurt themselves in any way. Of course their little escape had caused trouble with all the other cats on their floor, who had witnessed the chaos.

"Unbelievable how just a few kittens can cause that much trouble," Harry laughs. 

"A few? Harry, there's ten of them! That's an unbelievably large litter and if we hadn't been there to help Toffee some of them wouldn't have made it this far. They possibly wouldn't have survived their first week." Draco shudders at the thought. Thankfully they had found Toffee before she'd given birth and could help her take care of the little menaces. 

"I know, I know," Harry gives in smiling. "You have a very important job and you're very good at it."

He swats at Harry's arm. 

"So what have you been up to all day?" he asks eventually.

"Oh you know, this and that," he smiles mischievously. "But the most important thing is…" he waggles his eyebrows at Draco to build suspense. He leans in closer to whisper the words like a big secret: "I made pain au chocolat!" 

"Really?" Draco can barely reign in his excitement. He looks around the kitchen. Where did Harry hide the absolute-most-wonderful and his favorite-of-all-time treats? 

Harry watches him, chuckling. Then pulls at the air and reveals a big basket of pain au chocolat underneath his invisibility cloak. 

Draco can feel himself salivating at the sight. He discreetly wipes the corners of his mouth. How embarrassing would it be to drool all over the pastries?

"I also tried something new," Harry continues and reveals another smaller basket with what look a bit like his wonderful almond croissants. 

"More pastries? It's not even my birthday. Did I miss anything?" 

"These are filled with this pistachio stuff you like so much." 

"What?!" Draco's head snaps around so fast he can hear something in his neck crack loudly.

"I bought you a new jar, don't worry," Harry amends. 

"You're unbelievable," Draco leans down to smell Harry's newest creation. They're still warm and smell wonderful like melted butter and he swears he can smell the flakiness. He can't quite suppress the moan that bubbles up his throat. 

Harry snorts and pulls a plate and knife out of the cupboard. 

"Wanna split one to try?" 

He puts one of the pistachio pastries on the plate but hesitates as he sees the look on Draco's face. 

"You can still eat more if you want," he says after a moment. 

Draco lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and laughs a bit at himself. When has Harry ever denied him anything? 

"Share the first?" Harry asks again. Now with a smile. 

Draco nods vigorously, then watches transfixed as Harry's knife slides through the pastry, sending flakes of crust flying. 

He holds out the plate for Draco to take the first half. 

Draco's hands shake with excitement. The pistachio spread is oozing quietly, almost gently, out of the pastry's still warm and soft and perfect insides. 

The first bite is just like he imagined. But at the same time it's so much better. Flaky and buttery and just the right amount of sweet. Pistachio could almost be chocolate but the just-barely-nutty flavour gives it a bit of a sophisticatedness that chocolate can only dream of. 

Draco hums around his mouthful, careful not to spray the precious crumbs. 

"Is it good?" Harry asks. Draco has to open his eyes to look at him. He hadn't even realised he'd closed them. That's how distracted he was by the pastries. 

"Harry, honestly, you should start a café or a bakery or something. These are so good, I'd marry you on the spot if that would guarantee a never-ending supply." Draco takes another bite and openly moans at the pleasure. 

He's so distracted by the pastry that it takes him a good minute to realise Harry hasn't said anything. Hasn't even started eating his own half of the pistachio pastry. Instead he's staring at Draco, eyes wide open and mouth agape as if he'd wanted to say something but somewhere along the way decided not to. 

Draco swallows self-consciously. "Harry?" 

Harry shakes his head as if to clear it and teasingly smiles at Draco. 

"You'd marry me over pastries?" he mocks. Draco shoves at his shoulder. 

"Yes I would. You could do better, sure, but you're stuck with me anyways." He licks some of the pistachio spread from his fingertips. 

"I could do much worse than my best friend," Harry says affectionately, and finally takes a bite of his own half of the pistachio pastry. 

They end up eating pastries for dinner and truly Draco could do much worse than having Harry Potter as his personal pastry supplier and best friend.

The clock strikes midnight and Draco suddenly sits upright in bed. He's just barely been asleep, exhausted from the day's work and the sugar rush from the pastries. 

But something had woken him up. What is it?

There! What is that? It almost sounds like… steps? It's coming from the roof. Are there steps on the roof? 

SOMEONE IS ON THE ROOF!

Draco freezes in shock. How can someone be on the roof? This doesn't make any sense. The wards should keep anyone from coming even close to being on the fucking roof. 

But there it is again. A scratching sound. Right close to the window. And another step. Unmistakably steps. Coming closer to the window. 

What if they come inside? 

Draco shrieks before he can stop himself. The sounds stop as well. 

What if they want to hurt him? What if they — no! What if they hurt Harry? 

The pure thought propels Draco out of bed in an instant. 

"Harry!" He whisper-shouts, hurrying as quietly as he can down the stairs and almost smacks into the door at the end of them.

He jiggles the knob, how he's used to when the lock jams. But seriously, why do these things only ever happen when he doesn't have the time or patience?! 

Finally the lock clicks open and Draco is across the hall in three long strides. 

He doesn't let himself be stopped by Harry’s bedroom door, throwing it open without further ado just to be met with a very shirtless and startled Harry Potter. 

"Draco!" Harry whirls around, shoving his glasses back up his nose.

"What's wrong?" he zeroes in immediately, probably noticing the panicked look on Draco's face.

"The roof," somehow Draco is breathless, panting out his response. "Steps on the roof. Someone is — I think someone is on the roof." 

Harry only gapes at him as he finally gets the words out. 

"What?!" He finally says, storming right past Draco, naked chest and all. 

"Are you sure? Did you see anyone?" He half shouts over his shoulder. He's already past the door to Draco's room, taking the steps two at a time. 

"I heard steps and scratching noises and, and, and it was so loud," Draco finally says. He quickly follows Harry up the stairs. 

Still he's too late. By the time he reaches his room, Harry has already opened the roof window as far as it will go and has his whole head stuck out, standing on the edge of Draco's bed. 

"Be careful..." Draco murmurs, knowing full well that Harry is in full on protector mode. 

He feels a pang of affection and guilt as he remembers the first time he'd been cursed after they'd left school and he'd had to stay at the hospital for two nights. Harry wouldn't leave his side. He pointed his wand at everyone who entered the room and watched all the mediwixen warily as they treated Draco. Truly, if Harry wasn't the sole savior of the wizarding world, they would've kicked him right out. Draco had never felt that cared for before. 

"I don't see anything," Harry says eventually. "Can you hand me your wand? I left mine in my room."

"You don't have your wand?!" Draco shrieks. "Honestly the nerve on you. You storm up here and basically climb up out on the roof where a possibly dangerous intruder is lurking and you don't even have your wand?" He takes Harry’s hand and places his own wand in his fingers. 

"Ridiculous. I can't believe how people think you're this hero, this perfect infallible warrior. You're nothing but a stubborn prick, throwing himself at danger head first, never thinking about a thing a day in his life. Pure stupid luck that you're still alive…" Draco keeps on muttering like that as Harry stands higher, his whole chest, almost up to his waist, is leaning out onto the roof now. He quickly casts one spell after another but Draco can't really keep up what they are. 

"Draco, what did you see?" Harry's muffled voice comes in through the window. 

"I didn't see anything. I heard footsteps. And scratching noises." 

"Hmm," Harry hums. 

"What?!" Draco lets himself fall onto his bed, making Harry wobble and almost lose his balance. He sticks his head back inside to glare at him.

"Draco," he says calmly, closing the window and sitting down beside him, "there's nothing out there."

"But I heard—"

"Yes, yes," Harry hurries to say. "But right now there is nothing on the roof." 

They stare at each other for a moment. 

"Fine," Draco exclaims eventually and covers his face with his arms. He can't keep staring at Harry's naked chest. Somehow his eyes keep finding Harry's nipples that have tightened in the cool night air. 

"I can strengthen the wards for you. Make sure nothing will be able to come anywhere near your window and I'll be alerted in case anything tries to break through. Would that calm you down a bit?" 

I'm perfectly calm, Draco almost says. But he knows as well as Harry that he'll easily work himself into a panic once Harry leaves him alone again. 

"Yes, please," he says instead. 

"Good. Okay." Harry places a hand reassuringly on Draco's knee. "This will only take a moment and then you can sleep." 

He begins casting. 

Draco loves that part. It's only once every few months usually that Harry taps into the wards, checks them and strengthens them if necessary. But whenever he does, it makes the magic visible. Like a tight-knit net, thrown all around every wall, every floor and ceiling, every nook and cranny in this whole house. It's glittering and gleaming with Harry's intent, a soft blue, a vibrant green, and sometimes alarming red. 

It's blue right now, here in Draco's room. But the net tightens across the window. He can see the net double on the outside through the glass, deepening in colour, until it gleams a rich purple. The net pulses, threads thickening, and tightens another time until it's a solid wall. 

Harry looks at his handiwork from a few different angles, then finishes the spell. 

He sighs and sits back down next to Draco.

"You're perfectly safe now. Not even I should be allowed to come in through that window," he puts his hand on Draco's knee again, squeezing gently. 

"Thank you," Draco places his hand delicately over Harry's. 

"You really don't have to thank me, Draco. I want you to be safe here. I want you to feel safe and calm and comfortable."

"I know. But—"

"This is your home, too," Harry says very quietly. 

Draco lets himself bask in his best friend's reassurance for a second. He lets his head rest on Harry's shoulder for a moment. This, he thinks, this is home. 

Draco is having a shit day. It's taken him almost an hour too long to get all the cat food ready so the cats are all grumpy and displeased by the time he feeds them. 

Then he somehow messed up cleaning the litter boxes so that he had to clean up a whole different kind of mess soon after. 

He didn't sleep at all last night, because, of course, Harry eventually had to return to his own room and his own bed, and Draco, being left alone, worked himself back into a panic as soon as the wind rattled the shingles on the roof just a little. He kept a tight grip on his wand the whole time and eventually night turned into dawn and he watched the sky slowly become lighter. 

And now he's looking at the most miserable little fluff ball he's seen in a long while. 

Usually he likes working at an animal shelter. The animals don't judge him for anything. They don't even remotely know about his past and the mistakes he made in his youth. The few muggles he interacts with daily are the most genuine people he knows and all they truly care about is that he takes good care of the animals.

And he does take good care of them. He likes taking care of them, especially of the cats. He likes feeling that his daily work can make the difference in these little creatures' lives. 

But looking at this grey ball of misery makes his heart clench. The poor sod has been abandoned in a cardboard box on the side of the street. It was barely a year old, according to the vet, working with the shelter, but it was dehydrated and underfed. The vet already gave her an infusion and ordered them to feed her a special food. The cat's long grey fur is horribly matted and infested with fleas. 

How could anyone do this to a poor little creature? How could someone neglect and abandon a cat that only wants to be loved?

"Shh, I know, little one. It's going to be alright…" Draco coos at the cat as it watches warily as he approaches her crate. Of course, Draco is tasked with taking care of the flea infestation. Which means: shearing the worst of the matting off and giving the poor little gal a bath. The perfect culmination to the perfect day, he thinks sarcastically. 

He feels the tiredness from his sleepless night deep in his bones and, knowing what it means in cat-language, lets his eyes droop shut for a moment and yawns unabashedly. Then he stretches languidly, making sure to keep his exposed belly turned towards the cat. Only now, he reopens his eyes, but the cat hasn’t moved an inch; she just keeps looking at him, her green eyes wide. 

He sighs deeply. Let's get to work. 

Carefully he opens the crate. "Don't worry," he tries to reassure the cat that has flattened herself against the back wall. "I'll take care of you, little one." 

Draco eyes the gloves on the shelf, the big tough and sturdy gloves they use to handle aggressive cats without getting bitten or scratched up. On a whim he decides to try it without them first. The cat does look wary and scared but she hasn't so much as hissed in his direction. There were also no reports of any aggression from the vet. And the gloves always make him feel a bit like he's losing the sensitivity in his hands. He prefers not having to use them.

Gently he holds out his hand, curled into a loose fist so she can sniff him, but she barely acknowledges him. The poor thing. 

She barely reacts when he lifts her out of the crate and swaddles her in a towel, to keep her limbs — especially her claws — in check. 

Even when he turns on the electric razor she barely even flinches. No hissing, no struggling, no reaction at all. 

This is either the calm before the storm or… or this cat has been so traumatized in her short life that she has completely given up on herself… Draco shudders at the thought. 

He looks around his shoulder, making sure the door is firmly closed and he is indeed alone in the room before slipping his wand from his sleeve and casting a quick Protego just in case. 

As it turns out he needn't have bothered for the shearing. The cat looks on melancholically as the matted fur hits the floor and her skin can finally breathe again. Draco has to be really careful when he gets close to the worst matting around her joints and throat. He almost has to shave her down to the skin there and if she moves just a bit too much he might hurt her accidentally. 

Finally he can put the razor away. He looks around himself. There is so much fur all around, on the floor, on the table, on his clothes. He swears there is some in his nose as well. 

He perfunctorily brushes himself off. The cat still barely moves of her own accord. 

"Let's get you bathed and then we can both rest for the day," Draco murmurs.

He puts the cat into a transport box next to the sink so he can prepare the bath with the right kind of soaps and also quickly sweep the floor so he doesn't slip on the literal carpet of cat hair. 

The bath starts out just as eerily calm as the shearing had. The cat lets herself be held easily and dunked into the lukewarm water. She only hisses halfheartedly when Draco also gets her face and ears wet. She lets herself be soaped up and even lets Draco rinse her off once. 

Then a few things happen at once. There's only a soft knocking at the door but the cat tenses at the sudden sound. Her claws extend, just a little, but right into the soft skin on the inside of Draco's left wrist, just where the end of his faded dark mark sits, hidden by his Glamour, and he is extra sensitive for it. And as Draco gasps, sucks in a breath, he feels the fine cat hairs that are still in his nose stir uncomfortably, tickling him and making him sneeze violently. The cat, startled anew, scrambles for purchase and digs her claws deeply into Draco's forearms as she flees, dragging her sopping wet body out of the sink. 

Draco obviously tries to grab her, which only makes it worse, making her spray suds and water all around them as she struggles to flee. She digs her claws into Draco's skin all up his arms and shoulders, even his neck. 

Finally he can grab her by the back of her neck, gentle but firm, he pulls her off his own neck, no doubt leaving big bloody gashes in his own skin. Of course, his Protego fails spectacularly on a day like this. 

He swaddles the cat back into her towel, to give them both time to calm down. It's not her fault she got startled badly. She didn't even mean to attack him, he knows. Still the scratches sting horribly, especially where the soapy water mingles with his blood.

The door creaks open behind him, accompanied with another soft knock. 

"Draco? Are you alright in here?" Erin says with a chuckle, that gets lodged in her throat as she takes in the scene before her. 

"Oh no, what happened to you?" 

"It was going really well. Like you wouldn't believe it," he says with an almost fond smile at the bundle of cat. "But then I accidentally startled her," he says with a wince. "I'll finish her up quickly and then mop up all the water and hair and… erm… blood." He winces again. 

"Draco no!" she exclaims, coming closer to put a hand on the bundled up cat. 

"You go clean up, make sure to have Matty help you. Or I can come help you in a bit when this feisty little thing is back in her crate… But all those scratches need to be disinfected and bandaged."

"I can do it. I can take care of her," Draco says stubbornly. This is his job. He is good at his job, he likes his job. He can do this. 

"Draco," Erin says, kindly. "Look at me, dear." He does. Her hazel eyes are warm and not filled with pity, as he had imagined, but with a deep sympathy and understanding. She swipes a lock of her salt and pepper hair out of her face in a routine gesture. 

"You have a bad day. That happens. Don't worry about it. You'll get patched up and then you can feed her if you want. You know, to end on something good?" she smiles knowingly. "And then you go home and have a nice long weekend and I'll see you Monday bright and early. Alright?" 

"Erin, I —"

"No, don't argue with me, dear. I'm the boss and you'll do as I say." She grins and pats him gently on the shoulder. 

He sighs deeply and feels the tension drain from his shoulders. 

"Thank you, Erin," he says quietly. 

"You're welcome, dear. You should let your Harry take care of you for a few days." 

Draco opens his mouth to protest. It's not like that. We're just friends. But then notices the cheeky grin on Erin's face. 

"Now go, shoo, you're bleeding all over my floor," she indicates to the small pool of blood from where the gashes on his arms drip slow but steady down his fingers. 

Draco lets his head hang low and turns to leave.

"Oh and by the way," she says, cheerful as ever, "I like what you did with your hair. Are those highlights? The blond suits you." 

All the blood drains from his face. He makes his way to the back room where employees get to change and they keep the big first aid kit and only then does he dare lift his head. 

Not only did his Protego fail him spectacularly, but also his Glamour doesn't hold up anymore. Strands of pale blond hair permeate the muddy brown. The amber eyes, he usually opts for, are turning paler as he watches. The scar creeping up from underneath his collar is also visible but smeared in the fresh blood it looks like a new wound. He sighs deeply. This day can't possibly get any worse. 

"Draco? You're home early. Are you alri—" Harry stops in his tracks, the smile frozen on his face in a horrific grimace. He's got a paint brush behind his ear and a streak of evergreen paint on his cheek that makes his eyes gleam. Or would make his eyes gleam, if it wasn't for the sheer look of horror in those eyes right now.

"What happened to you?" Harry rushes over. He peels Draco out of his cloak with gentle hands and barely looks as he floats it over to the rack. 

Draco sighs deeply, toes off his shoes and starts the ascend up the stairs all the way to his room. 

"I need to change. Or possibly take a shower," he says. Harry follows silently.

"I've had a bit of an incident," he begins explaining, still on the stairs.

By the time he's told Harry the whole story they're in his room. Harry is sitting cross-legged on Draco's bed, looking up at him with huge sympathetic eyes. Draco is fiddling with the hem of his jumper. 

"Let me look?" Harry says gently, twirling his wand between his fingers in a nervous gesture. 

Draco sighs. He knew Harry would do this. It's not the first time Harry has taken care of him after he'd been injured. He can't count the times Harry has healed him. Still it never gets any easier for him to take his top off in front of him. To display himself, his scars and all, to be looked at in the harsh light of day. He pulls his jumper off in one swift motion.

He winces a little as he pulls off the muggle plasters he had haphazardly stuck to the worst of the bleeding. A big one across his clavicle, another one over each of his shoulders and a few smaller ones across his arms and his cheek. His left forearm was bad enough that he just wrapped a whole bandage all over from the wrist to the elbow. He leaves that on for now.

"Draco," Harry gasps as he sees all the injuries, all the blood that had still welled on his way back home. He holds out his hand and with a surge of magic, a small, familiar potion bottle comes soaring right toward him. 

"Here, I'll put dittany on it, so it won't scar." There's a guilty tilt to his voice and he can't quite meet Draco's eyes. 

Harry stands, hesitating, but Draco nods for him to continue. He applies the liquid to all the big scratches and the smaller ones. Draco can feel the sizzling as much as he actually hears it as his skin knits itself back together. The scratch on his cheek is the last on. Harry holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting his head this way and that, before dribbling the dittany on the injury. 

"There," Harry says, softly. They're standing very close together. Draco can feel Harry's breath, warm on his freshly healed skin. His eyes are very green and filled with worry and concern and something that seems an awful lot like fondness, Draco is almost sure he's imagining it. The paint on Harry's cheek has a very subtle sheen of magical glitter to it. It's almost pearlescent.

Harry moves his thumb, gently stroking over the place the scratch used to be, wiping away any left over moisture from the dittany, or possibly blood. 

"Thank you," Draco says quietly, somehow snapping the moment. Harry drops his hands and takes a step back. He puts the stopper back on the bottle of dittany but then he stops again. 

"Your arm," he says and looks pointedly at it.

"It's fine. I'll do it later," Draco interjects quickly. He turns away to —

"Draco," Harry grabs his hand, the left one, and pulls him back around. "You're bleeding." 

Indeed, when Draco looks down, the bandage is slowly turning red, soaking through with blood. 

"I can't deal with that right now," Draco says quietly. The Mark fresh with blood is something he had to look at too many times in his life. The visual as well as the pain are still far too present in too many nightmares. And he had a horrible day and he's exhausted from last night and why does everything always happen to him?

"Come here," Harry says, gently pulling at his hand. He sits them both down on the bed and puts both hands on Draco's shoulders. 

"It's going to be alright. I'll take care of you. You can close your eyes and lay down if you want. You don't have to deal with anything. Just let me do it for you?" 

Draco groans. He lets himself fall on his back and slings his right arm over his stinging eyes. 

"Alright," he says after a long pause, his voice only barely shaking.

He tries not to think about Harry unwrapping the bandage from his arm. He tries to think of other things instead but everything leads back to the warmth of Harry's hands on his skin. 

"What have you been doing today? Painting?" he asks in hopes of a better distraction. 

"Yeah," Harry says quietly. "Remember how I found this old cabinet in the disappearing drawing room? I've been sanding it down all morning and decided to give it a new coat of paint. Something a little more … lively, you know?" 

"So you landed on iridescent green?" Draco asks, smirking into the crook of his arm.

"Yeah." He can hear Harry's smile in his voice. He glances out from underneath his elbow to catch a glimpse of it. "I know, I know. It's Slytherin colour." The words are accompanied by a fond eyeroll. 

"But I think it's coming along rather well. I'll show you. Come on." Harry stoppers the dittany again and takes Draco's hand. 

He's right – the cabinet does come along rather well and this shade of green rather reminds Draco of good things, of verdant forests and living things and Harry's eyes. It's a lovely colour.

They spend the rest of the day repainting the cabinet together, order thai food and eat it laughing, sitting on the floor in the living room, a rom-com, they've seen a million times playing on the telly in the background. 

Eventually the last sleepless night catches up with Draco. He has his head pillowed on Harry's thigh, and the familiar voice of Hugh Grant is lulling him gently. 

"Draco," Harry gently swipes a strand of hair out of his face, to get his attention. 

"Hey, you should go to bed before you fall asleep on the floor and mess up your back." 

Draco pries his eyes open. Gods, he's exhausted. He can't remember the last time staying awake took him that much effort.

"C'mon," Harry says and wedges a hand underneath Draco's shoulder. 

Draco feels himself being pulled upright. Then, warm hands on both his shoulders.

"Draco, you have to open your eyes. Just a few minutes." Harry's voice is so lovely and sweet.

He hadn't even realised that his eyes had fallen shut again. He really tries to get his eyelids to open again, as well as trying to steady himself so that Harry can let go of his shoulders. But his hands are very warm. And his voice is so sweet. 

Draco's head is so heavy. It lolls onto his shoulder, making him startle and his eyes fly open. 

"There he is," Harry says with a grin. 

"Fuck off," Draco retorts with a sleepy grin of his own. 

He rubs his eyes and yawns, belatedly covering his mouth with the back of his hand 

He struggles a bit to get up from the floor, his knees creaking precariously, but eventually he makes his way up the stairs.

Half an hour later Draco falls into his bed and pulls the duvet up to his chin. He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes. 

scritch scritch scraaatch

He sits upright in bed. Not again… For a moment everything is silent. Maybe it was only the wind. 

But then the scratching is back, loud and insistent. 

Stomp, scritchscritchscritch, stomp, STOMP! 

Draco leaps out of bed and down the stairs so quickly he's dizzy by the time his body slams into the door. He jiggles the doorknob and finally with a groan it opens. 

"Harry?" he raps his knuckles against Harry's door once, twice.

"Harry? I'm coming in." He opens the door to find Harry's room empty.

"Harry?" He takes a tentative step into the room. It's still early enough. Harry might still be downstairs in the living room. Or what if — what if someone has already made it into the house?! What if they'd already gotten to Harry? What if Draco was all on his own in this house with intruders and Harry was hurt somewhere? Or worse? Or worse.

"Harry!" panic surges through Draco as he spins on his heel.

"Draco? What's up?" Harry comes out of the bathroom, a bit of toothpaste still in the corner of his mouth. 

"Oh thank Merlin! I thought they had already gotten to you. I thought — I thought you might be hurt or… or worse."

"Oh Draco," Harry pulls him into a hug. "I'm perfectly fine. Nothing has happened to me. And nothing will happen to me. Or to you."

Draco feels himself tremble against Harry's chest, but there's nothing he can do about it really, so he buries deeper into Harry's embrace. The scent of his cinnamon toothpaste calms him endlessly. 

Eventually the trembling stops and Harry pulls back. He keeps hold of his hands, though, and pulls him into his room, to sit on the edge of his bed.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he asks.

Draco nods and wipes at the unexplained moisture in the corner of his eyes. "Sorry I'm such a mess," he says.

"Shh," Harry pulls him against his shoulder again. He starts petting Draco's hair, which feels surprisingly nice. Draco isn't sure how long it's been since anyone has touched him like that. 

"Tell me what happened? What got you so upset?" Harry asks.

Draco takes a deep breath and tells Harry everything about the noises, the steps on the roof, just like last night. 

"I'll go check it out, alright?" Harry says after a long silence. "Do you want to stay here or come with?" 

Draco just blinks at him. He's just so tired. He feels so safe in Harry's arms and he really, really doesn't want to move anymore. He just wants to go to sleep. 

"Can't — can't I just stay here tonight? With you? I mean … if you don't mind, that is…"

Harry holds him tighter, just for a second. 

"Of course, you can." 

Draco feels a bit silly as he actually lays down in Harry's bed, underneath the duvet that smells of the same laundry detergent he uses, but also Harry's shampoo and his skin and just a slight bit of cinnamon. He pulls the duvet up to his nose and takes a deep breath. 

He waits for Harry to get changed into his pyjamas and slide into bed beside him. 

Once they're both settled, Draco realises how close they have to lay. He can feel the heat radiating off Harry's body. 

It only takes him moments to fall deeply asleep.

Sleep holds on to Draco. His body feels heavy around his waist and legs, just enough to feel grounded and endlessly comfortable. Warm, too. Perfectly warm to cuddle deeper into the bedding and enjoy a lazy morning. 

The heaviness around his waist tightens as he moves, pulling him back against a solid warmth. 

His eyes flutter open as the events from last night rush back to him. The noises on the roof, the panic and then … climbing into Harry's bed, with Harry warm and comforting next to him. 

And now, Harry has his arms wrapped around Draco's waist, pulling him close against his chest. Their legs are tangled together and Harry's face is pressed into the crook of Draco's neck, puffing warm breaths against his skin. Draco's own arms are wrapped around Harry's shoulders.

It should be awkward, waking up tangled together in an intimate embrace with his best friend and roommate. It should be awkward and disconcerting, uncomfortable even. But somehow their bodies fit so well together, and Draco hasn't slept this well in a long time. 

He follows his instinct to bury his nose in Harry's unruly curls, breathes the smell of his shampoo. The sigh that follows is barely more than a breath, but he feels himself relax once more, right back into Harry's arms.

If he admits to thinking about it, Harry has been his rock ever since they were out of school. The one person that has the ability to always make him feel safe. The one person who has seen him at his worst, who has known the most horrible things about him, who still wants to be around him, even enjoys spending time with him. He knows about his mean streak and instead of denouncing him for it, he likes him for it. He thinks it's funny and smiles that lovely smile that makes the corners of his eyes crease and the green in his eyes glint spectacularly.

Harry never makes him feel like a burden. He never tells him he's too much, or not enough. He always listens to his stories, even when he knows they aren't very entertaining. Or he's telling the same story twice without realising.

With Harry he would watch paint dry and still have the time of day. Hell, that's basically what they did yesterday afternoon and evening. And with a flash he realises, he wouldn't want to do any of this with anyone else. 

Harry stirs beside him, disentangling their bodies and stretching with a loud yawn. 

"Good morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. "Merlin, I don't remember the last time I slept this well." He settles on his back leaving Draco cold where they were pressed tightly together just seconds ago. 

Oh fuck, Draco thinks as realisation hits him. 

He's in love with Harry Potter.

The Big-Feelings-Realisation, how Draco dubbed it in his mind, changes everything. 

Draco spends half the morning blushing furiously whenever Harry does basically anything. He stammers through his sentences, barely getting words out correctly. He catches himself staring at Harry in the most obvious kind of ways. It's ridiculous, really. He feels like a teenager. Like a schoolboy, obsessed with Harry Potter all over again. Only back then, he wanted nothing more than to be noticed, especially by Harry, and today he thinks he might die of embarrassment if Harry notices him too much. 

They have an awkward breakfast, with Draco barely saying more than ten words. Somehow Harry manages to fill the silence with easy chatter about what he might be doing with the day. Until Draco can't take the tension anymore. 

"I'll go and do the grocery shopping!" he says too loudly, interrupting Harry mid-sentence. 

Harry blinks owlishly at him for a moment. Then he smiles and goes through the list once more, adding a few things before handing it to Draco. 

"I'll go with you," he says with a grin. And how could Draco possibly say no to that?

This is how he finds himself in the vegetable aisle at the local muggle supermarket, staring at Harry weighing different courgettes in his hands. 

Gods, how can something so mundane drive him crazy like this? He subtly touches his mouth to make sure he isn't openly drooling at his roommate handling vegetables. 

Harry catches him staring. He puts both courgettes in his basket and fucking winks at Draco. 

How has he never noticed how flirty Harry was with his friends? Draco is going to die. Harry is going to flirt with him, like he always does, but now, Draco will get a heart attack from it and he will die. 

Gods, he is being ridiculous.

He shakes his head at himself and turns away, taking a stroll through the sweets aisle. He needs to get a grip on himself. 

He picks up some cookies with double cream filling and irish cream truffles. Then he sees Maltesers and grabs two bags of those, as well. They're Harry's favourites. 

Slowly he makes his way back to Harry, mind still with the sweets and careful not to be steered into the wrong direction again. 

But when he finds Harry, he stops in his tracks. Harry is standing in the bread aisle, a loaf of their favourite fluffy white bread in his hands. Harry isn't alone. There is another man with him. Another man who is clearly flirting, giving him lewd looks and suggestive smiles. 

And Harry is … he's smiling back, flirting back. Draco is too far away to hear clearly what they're saying, but he can see the way Harry is laughing, throwing back his head and exposing the column of his throat. 

Before he can think better of it, Draco pulls himself up to his full height and pastes a saccharine sweet smile on his face. He struts over to Harry's side, stepping a bit closer to him than he normally would. He holds the sweets out in front of him. 

"Look, Harry, I found your favourite." He ignores the other man completely as he places his findings deliberately in the basket Harry is holding. "Oh and you found the bread I like!" He exclaims, more chipper than necessary. He takes the loaf from Harry's hands and places it into the basket. He pulls the basket from where it's looped around Harry's arm and places his own hand in the crook of his elbow to gently steer him away from the other guy. 

"Draco, what —?" Harry stammers but goes with him easily. 

They finish their shopping mostly in silence after that, but Draco doesn't leave Harry out of his sight for a moment. Whenever he sees that other man staring at them he puts his arm around Harry's shoulders, or loops his arm through Harry's or once, even, takes his hand. 

"So … What was that all about?" Harry asks with a smile audible in his voice. They're halfway home. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, but his voice is too high. He cringes at himself. Of course, he wouldn't just simply get away with it and not ever have to talk about it again. He sighs, giving in. 

"I didn't like the way that guy was looking at you," he mumbles eventually. 

"Really? And why is that?" Harry inquires, all nonchalant. 

"I mean, he looked at you like he wanted to positively eat you."

Harry scoffs. 

"So what? Maybe I wanted to be eaten." He wriggles his eyebrows teasingly. Draco groans.

"You don't mean that! Come on! That guy?" 

"What was wrong with him?" Harry asks laughing.

"Oh my— Are you blind? I mean, you kind of are, I guess. With those thick glasses of yours. But that guy was obtrusive and crude and a total sleazebag. Eugh." Draco exaggerates the shiver that runs down his spine at the thought. For emphasis. 

"Alright, alright. It's not like I wanted to actually date him, you know?" Harry gives in with a snort. He bumps his shoulder into Draco's, and the simple gesture makes a warmth spread from the pit of his belly all over his body. 

Gods, Draco is behaving ridiculously. He's got to get a fucking grip. There's no way he'll risk his friendship with Harry by behaving like a jealous lunatic. 

He takes a few deep breaths. Put the feelings away for now. Or better even, forever. Harry is his friend and nothing more. He never will be anything but his friend.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Draco mostly uses his free time to catch up on his reading. Harry, curled up on the sofa opposite him, takes up his latest knitting project with the telly quietly on in the background.

Before he knew it, it was late. He'd barely moved all day but the sleepiness drags through his body, making him yawn. 

Harry, from the other side of the sofa, pokes him with his toes. 

"I think it's time to turn in," he yawns. 

Draco follows him up the stairs.

They brush their teeth side by side in such a mundane kind of way. They've done this a million times before but today it gives Draco butterflies in the pit of his stomach. It means nothing, he reminds himself. 

Once they're done, they bid each other good night and each turn to retire to their own room. 

Draco hesitates in front of his door, remembering the noises he heard the last few nights. He really doesn't want to start from sleep with a panic again. But he can't possibly ask to sleep in Harry's bed again, either. Ever. He thunks his forehead against the closed door. 

"So, the sofa it is," he says to himself. 

The sofa, usually wonderfully comfortable, somehow turned lumpy and too narrow. Draco can't find the right pillow, the blanket, he normally can cocoon himself in, is too short and how the hell are his long limbs supposed to fit?

He keeps tossing and turning and staring at the dark ceiling. It doesn't matter how sleepy he was half an hour ago. There's no way he is going to fall asleep like this. 

He groans and turns to his side, pulling his knees up, so that his feet don't dangle off the edge, then further still to make sure his knees don't dangle off. He snorts a laugh at himself. This is absolutely ridiculous.

"Draco?" Harry's voice comes out of the dark.

Draco sits up quick enough to get dizzy. Harry casts a soft Lumos, illuminating his confused frown. 

"Are you sleeping here?" He asks, perplexed. 

"No," Draco says. "Evidently, I am not sleeping. At all. Ever again." He groans and hides his face in his hands. 

Harry comes to sit beside him. 

"Why aren't you sleeping in your bed? You know, in your room?" he asks. Like a normal person, he doesn't ask, but might as well have.

"I—," Draco isn't sure what to say. The truth, probably. What's the truth?

"I was —" scared to sleep in my room on my own. The words get stuck in his throat. He can't possibly say that. 

Harry waits for him to continue for a long time. When it becomes clear that he won't, he says, "Do you want to sleep with me again?"

Draco's brain short-circuits for a second. The words sleep with me echo in his skull on an infinite loop. 

He means sleep in his bed. Next to him. No touching, he reminds himself. 

"I can't ask that of you," Draco says quietly. 

"You didn't ask. I offered." Harry's eyes are kind and lovely and when he holds out his hand, it's impossible for Draco not to put his own hand in Harry's. 

Harry's answering smile is dazzling with the potential to make Draco swoon.

"Let me go get a glass of water and then we'll go to bed."

Just a few minutes later Draco lays in Harry's bed again, staring at the ceiling. 

"Good night, Draco," Harry says. He takes his hand over the duvet, interlacing their fingers and squeezing gently. 

"Good night," Draco says. 

Only minutes later, he's asleep.

Just like that it keeps happening. Draco never asks to sleep in Harry's bed again. He doesn't have to. Harry always offers him a spot for the night. And Draco, selfish and desperate, takes it. 

He feels guilty about it. Like he's inconveniencing Harry, taking advantage of his hero complex, his need to save people. 

Sometimes he lays awake at night, his body comfortable, beyond belief, with the heat of Harry's body so reassuring and soothing to his soul. His mind on the other hand can't help but spin around in circles. Would it really be so bad to sleep in his own bed with a tinge of panic seeping through him? Or give the sofa in the living room another chance? It couldn't possibly be worse than the other night. 

Harry stirs in his sleep, tossing to the other side. 

Draco props himself up on his elbows. 

Harry's lovely face is turned up in a frown, sweat beading on his brows, sticking his hair to his forehead. His hands are clenching in the duvet as he makes the most pitiful little gasping noises. 

"Harry," Draco whispers. He tries to make his voice as soothing as he possibly can. 

He puts a gentle hand on Harry's chest and applies the softest of pressures. 

"Harry, you're fine. It's only a dream," he soothes. 

Harry starts with a gasp, his eyes fly open, but other than that he doesn't move at all. His breath comes fast and ragged and his hands still clench so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

"Harry?" His eyes, so different without his glasses, impossibly green and vulnerable, slowly focus on Draco's face. With horror Draco realises they're wet with tears.

He raises his hand from Harry's chest up to swipe the hair from his forehead. 

"You're okay," he says. "It was only a bad dream."

Harry launches himself forward, flinging himself into Draco's arms and burying his face against his chest as violent sobs wrack through his body. 

Draco hesitates for only a moment before closing his arms around Harry tightly. He rubs his back and hair. He whispers reassuring words and tells Harry over and over that he's okay. He'll say it a million times until Harry can truly believe it’s true.

Eventually Harry's sobs subside and the shaking stops. Harry's fists loosen their grip on Draco's top.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" Draco asks as it seems there weren't any more tears going to spill. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Harry shakes his head, burying deeper into Draco's embrace. "I— fuck — sorry, I'm such a mess," he laughs self-deprecatingly. Draco tuts at him softly. 

His hands harden against Draco's chest as he starts pulling away, but Draco won't let him. He tightens his arms around Harry.

"You aren't a mess. It's perfectly understandable for you to have nightmares every once in a while. Hell, you could have nightmares every night and nobody would blink an eye." Draco closes his mouth with a click. He isn't sure why he said that. But it's immensely important that Harry knows he is not a burden. Ever.

Harry is quiet for such a long time that Draco thinks he might have fallen asleep again. But then he says, quietly and muffled against Draco's chest, "I have them almost every night. Usually."

"What?" Draco pulls back slightly, to look at Harry's face. Harry won't quite meet his eyes.

"I usually have nightmares almost every night," Harry gives in after a moment's hesitation. 

"But —," Draco starts. His head is spinning a little. "I've been living here for three years and you're having nightmares almost every night that I don't know about?" Harry shrugs one shoulder. 

"Nothing you needed to know." 

"But I…" could've done something? And what exactly would that have been? He frowns, thinking.

"This is the fourth night I've slept here. And you didn't have any. Did you?" He asks quietly.

"No, I've been … sleeping better with you here." Harry blinks up at Draco through his lashes, biting his lip sheepishly. His eyes aren't quite focused without his glasses.

Heat rises from the pit of Draco's belly all the way up to his ears. 

"That's good. That's nice," Draco says nonsensically. 

The soft smile playing around Harry's lips is the most beautiful thing Draco has ever seen. Draco would do anything to have Harry look at him like that. Fuck, he's so gone for him. 

They're so close together, still holding each other. It would be so easy to just lean in a little and kiss him. What would happen if he did? Harry looks so sweetly at him, maybe, just maybe, he would let him kiss him. Just this once. 

They look at each other for a long time. Long enough that Draco starts to panic. What if Harry can see his feelings just seeping out of him?

"We should try and get some more sleep," he says, breaking eye contact and with it, out of the temptation. 

"I…yeah," Harry says. 

They slowly disentangle themselves from each other. Draco's arms feel weirdly empty without Harry in them. He really needs to get a grip.

"Good night, Draco," Harry says once they're settled again. Does his voice sound a little … sad? Is the nightmare still affecting him? 

"Good night, Harry."

Draco lays awake for a long time. 

"Hello, little Stormcloud, remember me?" Draco says a little too chipper to the little grey cat. 

"Let's give your fur a little brush and see how it's coming along," he almost sing-songs. Gods, he's annoying. He'd hiss at him too, if he was a cat. 

It's been almost a week since Draco got all scratched up by a startled Stormcloud. As timid as she's been for the first day, some kind of dam must have broken after the bath. Nobody could touch her without her trying to fight for her life. She was really going through it. They named her Stormcloud, because of the way she'd grumble like thunder and strike like lightning. 

They haven't been able to brush her at all. It's not too bad, since Draco shaved the parts of her body that mat the easiest, but as the hair grows back, she will need to get used to being brushed or someone will have to shave her lovely fur off every few months. 

Erin already put the brush into her crate two days ago so she'd get a chance to get used to the foreign object. 

Now, though, she eyes Draco suspiciously as he comes closer to her crate.

"Look," Draco says softly, "I don't mean to hurt you. I know we've had a bit of a … misunderstanding last time. But I don't hold a grudge and I really hope you don't either." He's standing directly in front of the crate now. His hand is shaking a little as he lifts it to the latch. His other hand is already deep in the thick glove, holding a towel and ready to grab little Stormcloud if she tries to run. 

He feels terrible about it. 

Draco slowly opens the crate, watching Stormcloud for any sign of movement but she stays perfectly still. Her small body is pressed close to the floor, in the back of the crate, her ears flat to her head, eyes huge, but her pupils are slits. A low growl comes from her chest as the door opens. 

Draco takes his time. He's done everything else he needed to get done today. Now he can just stand here and wait for her to get used to him however long she needs. 

He probably won't get to actually brush her today. He's aware of that. But he's determined to give the little kitty some love, if she wants it or not. 

Draco doesn't touch Stormcloud that day. Or the day after that. But on the third day she finally doesn't growl at him right away, as soon as the crate opens. 

He carefully puts his hand, the one without the scary glove, on the edge of the opening, slowly curling his fingers around it. 

Stormcloud watches warily. But her not making a sound gives Draco courage. He inches his hand further into the crate, closer towards the scared little cat. 

"I really don't want to hurt you," Draco murmurs, the way he had been talking to her every day. Soft little whispers to reassure and soothe her. Encouraging words to establish a safe environment for — well, if he's completely honest, for himself. 

It doesn't look like much but she's really been making progress, slowly starting to — not trust him, per se, but not being quite as averse to his presence. She is still growling and hissing whenever Erin opens her crate and Matt only has to be in the room for her to go absolutely feral. And Draco can stand here, in front of the open crate, with his hand extended into it, and Stormcloud doesn't even growl at him. She only watches him as he yawns and slow-blinks, and only looks at her from the corners of his eyes. She even eats in his presence. Sometimes.

Hopefully he won't have to start all over again on Monday, when he returns after his weekend off. He should talk to Erin.

Sadly Stormcloud has no idea how to interact with other cats, since she probably never even met another member of the same species since she was a kitten. There is really no way to tell if she ever will be at ease with other cats so there's no possibility for her to get out of her isolated crate, which they usually reserve for quarantine. Not in the shelter at least. 

Perhaps she'll find someone who will take her on as a project, not expecting anything of her and giving her the time and love she so desperately needs, the way Draco tries to do in his limited time.

Or maybe, possibly he could be the one to take her home …? Not even forever, just to foster and socialise her. But what would Harry say? Would Erin even allow it? He'll talk to each of them and figure it out. 

"Don't worry, Stormy, we'll find the best way for you, lovey."

It's late when Draco finally returns home. It's already turning dark outside, the streetlamps illuminating the neighbourhood in a warm glow. 

The house smells heavenly. As if on cue Draco's stomach growls loudly. He chuckles at himself and rushes through his coming home routine. 

"Harry, this smells amazing!" he exclaims … to an empty kitchen. There are pots and pans on the stove, and something on the counter top in a bread basket covered with a tea towel and probably under a stasis. By the smell of it Draco guesses it's Harry's homemade garlic naan. Which means he's probably made another variation of curry he'd wanted to try out. Brilliant! But no sign of Harry. 

"Harry?" Draco makes his way up the stairs to the living room, carefully avoiding the creaking steps. 

He can't put his finger on it but something feels a bit… off. 

The door to the living room is closed… Draco can't remember the last time that happened.

There are voices coming from inside. He can't quite make out what they're saying, but one is Harry for sure. He's talking too fast and a little too shrill. 

Is he upset? What is going on?

The other voice replies something Draco can't catch. He only realises it's a female voice. But not Hermione … Ginny, perhaps?

He hasn't seen Ginny in a while. Why would she be here arguing with Harry? 

The romance between the two had been fizzled out by the time Draco had befriended Harry in eighth year. And of course Ginny was always kind of … around, but Draco had never really been close to her. Not the way he'd eventually become close with Hermione or Ronald. 

After school Ginny moved to train with the Harpies full time so she only sometimes made it to group gatherings.

He'd never really been able to shake the feeling that Ginny might still try to push Harry's buttons the way only an ex could. Usually that was not a problem between them, as far as Draco was concerned, since they usually see each other in a group setting that keeps the banter light and shallow. 

Now, though, their voices are clearly rising. Ginny keeps talking insistently, her voice steady and persistent, as Harry's replies come monosyllabic and more and more angry. Draco can practically see, through the closed door, how he would set his jaw, cross his arms and narrow his eyes. 

It's barely been two minutes since Draco walked through the front door of Grimmauld Place, as Harry begins shouting.

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHO DOES OR DOESN'T SLEEP IN MY BED!" 

He storms out of the living room, but stops in his tracks as soon as he sees Draco lurking on top of the stairs. 

"Oh, you're home," he says, quietly. His lovely tan skin darkens beautifully.

"Just came home."

"Excuse me," Ginny shoulders past them, stomps down the stairs and slams the front door on her way out. 

Draco can't help his flinch at the loud noise. Gods, how could all these Weasleys be this fucking loud all the time? He just barely suppresses a shudder at the memory of the last time Harry had taken him to the Burrow for Sunday lunch. That many raucous redheads in one place should be forbidden. If it wasn't for Hermione — and Harry — he would've hidden in a closet somewhere and only come out once the noises outside of it would've ceased. Which would have been never. He would still be in that closet.

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, pulling Draco out of his reverie. 

"I … I didn't mean to … eavesdrop." Draco's voice cracks at the last word. As if it sensed being caught in a lie. 

"I doubt you needed to eavesdrop to hear what we were talking about," Harry chortles and rubs the back of his neck. 

"What? No, I didn't hear a thing!" Draco hurries to lie. 

Harry frowns at him for a moment. Then bursts into laughter. 

Mortified at his own lies, Draco watches wide-eyed, as Harry doubles over laughing, clutching at his sides. 

Then he bursts out laughing, too. 

They laugh loud and clear and unabashed, until tears roll down the sides of their faces. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I said that," Draco wheezes. 

"You should've seen your face!" Harry gasps, clapping Draco on the shoulder. 

He wipes the tears from his face, setting his glasses askew in the process. 

"Come on," he says. He squeezes Draco's shoulder and steps around him carefully, "let's go have dinner. I cooked." 

Draco follows.

Dinner is lovely. Draco was right, Harry had made garlic naan and tried out a new curry recipe. It's a bit too spicy for Draco but he can manage. For Harry. He loves the way Harry's eyes light up as he tries his own creation for the first time. 

He immediately goes into what he could do differently or better next time and Draco tries his best to give any kind of opinion as slowly but steadily, his mouth catches on fire. 

"Do you think it needs more ginger?" Harry asks, dipping his naan in the remnants of sauce on his plate.

"No, no, I think the amount of ginger is just right," Draco says, slowly chewing his naan but barely tasting anything anymore. 

Harry looks at him with a dazzling smile that freezes a bit on his face. He looks closer at Draco's probably crimson face and his smile falters. 

"It's too hot for you, isn't it?" he asks quietly.

"A bit," Draco gives in, not quite managing to meet Harry's gaze. 

"Lucky for you then, that I made kheer for pudding," Harry announces. 

"You did?" Immediately Draco's mood lightens up. 

The kheer is perfectly creamy and sweet, just the way Draco likes it. The sweetness is the perfect counter for the spice and Draco can't get enough of it. 

But still, one thing is gnawing at the back of his mind. 

"Harry?" he says later that night as they're doing the dishes. Draco does the washing up, Harry dries and puts away. 

"Yeah?"

"About earlier… I — I don't know what Ginny said to you. But —"

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupts meekly. 

"Hmm?"

"It doesn't matter what Ginny said."

"Oh," Draco feels himself blush. He buys himself a little time by scrubbing at the big pot a little longer than necessary. 

"I just mean," he starts again after a moment's silence. "I just wanted to say that if it bothers you, I don't have to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on my own again… At least I think I can." The last part is a murmur mostly to himself. He doesn't really want to sleep on his own. But he really should be able to. 

"Draco," Harry puts the last plate away, dries his hands and puts them on Draco's shoulder, forcing him to face him properly. 

"You sleeping with me is not a bother. I enjoy having you there with me and I sleep better when you're there next to me."

Draco bites his lip. Harry keeps telling him he's not a bother, but he can't help but feel like one. 

Harry sighs and lets go of Draco's shoulders. He takes a step back.

"We can both sleep in our own beds tonight, if you prefer," he says quietly. 

"Perhaps we should," Draco says, although everything in him yells no. 

Not long after Draco lies awake in his own bed. He misses the soft sounds of Harry moving beside him, or him simply breathing beside him. In short, he misses Harry. 

It's ridiculous. He has no claim on Harry. Besides, he will see him in the morning. It's only for a few hours that he's supposed to sleep anyways. 

He bets Harry is sleeping soundly. Probably even better now, that he has his bed back to himself. 

Draco groans and covers his face with his arms. He's being pathetic with these stupid feelings. Who does he think he is? Falling in love with Harry Potter? What a nonsensical thing to do. He really should figure out how to quit. 

It takes him a long time to finally come out of his spiral and figure out that this is good, actually, sleeping in his own bed will help him get over Harry and all that. Finally he feels calm enough to possibly think about falling asleep. 

But just as he's closing his eyes, there's a loud screeching outside. 

He tries to write it off as some stray cats fighting in the alley, but then there's the unmistakable noise of steps on the roof, followed by scratching just by his window. 

He yelps loudly, flings the duvet from his body and jumps out of bed. 

By the time he's down the stairs, Harry is already out in the corridor.

"The steps and the scratching and somebody is trying to get in," he pants. 

Harry opens his arms and Draco easily folds himself into them. 

He lets himself be led into Harry's bedroom and, rearranged into a lying position, Harry pulls him closer once more.

"Merlin, you're still shaking," Harry says into the crook of his neck, but already Draco feels better. 

Minutes later, he's asleep.

"What do you mean, you sleep in Potter's bed? On a regular basis?" Pansy shrieks. The mimosa halfway to her lips, hangs forgotten in the air. 

Draco sighs. 

"I mean exactly that," he grits out. "I've been sleeping in Harry's bed for about a week." He regrets telling Pansy about it already. He's not even sure why he did it. Possibly because he needs someone else, who knows him, who he can talk about Harry with, who obviously isn't Harry. So Pansy and Luna on their bi-weekly Sunday brunch it is. 

"So you're sleeping in the same bed?" Pansy looks at him expectantly, waiting for confirmation. 

Draco rolls his eyes. "Yes," he says.

"But you have a perfectly fine bed of your own, yes?"

"Yes."

"And do you, like, cuddle?"

"Yes." Draco sighs. 

"But there's no sex?" Her dark eyes are intense with her anticipatory smirk.

"No, there is no sex," he grits through his teeth. He just barely manages to suppress the urge to roll his eyes again. 

"So," she draws the syllable as long as she possibly can. Finally she takes that sip of her mimosa, before continuing. 

"Why are you doing it? Sleeping in the same bed?" 

Draco launches into an elaborate explanation about the noises he keeps hearing on the roof and how terrifying it feels to just lay there and wait for someone to try and break in. 

"Doesn't Potter have perfectly fine warding?" Pansy wants to know. 

"Oh yes," Luna chimes in. She has been sitting back with her knees to her chest and a gigantic purple coffee mug, that could just as well be a bowl with a handle, clutched in both hands. "Harry's wards are very powerful." 

"Why are you scared, then, Draco? Don't you trust the Boy Who Lived Twice?" Pansy probes meanly. 

Draco closes his eyes. How is he supposed to explain his anxiety, that he cognitively knows is unrealistic? 

"Pansy," Luna chides gently, but effectively. The mean glint in Pansy's eyes vanishes and is instead replaced by a soft look, that is purely reserved for her girlfriend.

Luna's eerily blue eyes bore into Draco for a moment. 

"The sleeping arrangement is not really what's bothering you, is it?" she says eventually.

Gods, she can look right into one's soul like that, can't she? 

Draco sighs softly. 

"No, it's not. But it's kind of … adjacent." He cringes a bit at his own choice of words. Ugh, why is it always so fucking difficult to talk about feelings?

"It's about Harry, kind of. You know how he's always really flirty with his friends?" He waits for their affirmation, only to be met with blank stares and confusion.

"Not really, no," Luna says.

Pansy's frown turns into a barely concealed smug smile.

"Do you mean the awkward joking around he sometimes does?" she asks. 

"Awkward joking? No, Pans, pay attention," he snaps. 

What do they know anyways? Pansy being a raging lesbian and Luna being … well, Luna. 

"Anyway," Draco shakes his head softly to get back on track to what he was trying to say. 

"Sleeping so close next to Harry has made me realise that … I'vefalleninlovewithHarry," he lets the last part out in a rush, the words melding and fusing together. 

The two girls look at him for a long moment, then at each other, exchanging a glance, Draco can't quite read. 

"That's news?" Pansy asks, eventually, smirking loftily.

"What?" What?

Luna rearranges her long legs, so she can lean forward, balancing the enormous mug precariously in one hand, she places the other on Draco's wrist. 

"We knew about your feelings for a while," she says matter-of-fact. 

"Yes, we talk about it all the time," Pansy adds gleefully.

"You — what?"

"Draco," Pansy says, not unkindly. She places her hand on top of Draco's, just beside Luna's. "You really didn't know?" 

"No," he shrieks. He pulls his hand free, so he can cover his face with both hands and have a proper meltdown. 

What do they even mean? How could they possibly have known about his feelings when he, himself, had no idea? And most importantly …

"Why did you never tell me?" 

"We thought you knew," Pansy says mirthfully. She smirks at him like the cat that got the cream. Oh, by the gods, he's never going to live this down, is he?

Draco downs the rest of his coffee and winces. He hadn't realised it was this cold already. 

"You know what? I can't do this right now. I thought I wanted to talk about this with you, but I was wrong, I guess. And since I know you won't let it go," he gives Pansy a pointed look, "I'll be taking my leave and see you again in two weeks." With that he stands.

"Oh Draco, you're ruining all the fun," Pansy pouts, refilling her mimosa. 

Draco glares at her. Why are they friends again?

Pansy takes a big gulp of her mimosa and stands to kiss him on the cheek. She almost shoves the sea shell bowl filled with Floo Powder at him.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it too much," she says, in lieu of goodbye.

"We talk about Harry's feelings all the time, too," Luna says, just before Draco is whisked away into the Floo Network. 

Luna's parting words stay with Draco for the rest of the day. What did she mean 'Harry's feelings'? What feelings? 

And what if they were right? Does Harry really not flirt with his friends regularly? Is it only Draco's perception? Or does he, possibly, flirt with Draco and not his other friends?

How could Pansy truly tell him not to worry? As if she doesn't know exactly, that Draco is absolutely incapable of not-worrying. 

Thankfully Harry is already at the Burrow by the time Draco arrives back home. He won't be back until mid-afternoon, so Draco can get the semblance of composure. 

He tries reading but can't concentrate for longer than a paragraph before his thoughts stray back to what the girls said. He tries listening to the Quidditch match on the wireless but all that does is fill his head with pictures of Harry on a broomstick. So that's not helping. 

He even puts on a Glamour to go for a walk but every movement around him makes him jump. Every bird's rustling of feathers, every cat's meow, and don't even start with other people. Draco hides in an alley not even five hundred meters away from home and apparates home in a rush as something overturns a nearby bin. He nearly splinches himself in his panic.

Once home he has all this pent up nervous energy and no mental focus that he does the only thing he can think of: cleaning. He goes through the whole house, shooting various cleaning charms and even scrubbing the muggle way until his fingers are wrinkly. 

He puts new sheets on his bed and after a moment's hesitation goes on to change the sheets on Harry's bed as well. He's sleeping in it, so he can take care of it, too, he figures. 

By the time Harry gets home, he's moved on to doing laundry. Already having the second load in the washing machine, he's finally calmed himself down. Busying himself with housework did the trick. But only one smile from Harry has him tripping over his own feet again. 

Staying busy with Harry home is a lot more difficult. His mind keeps zoning out, spinning away to whatever Harry is doing. A few times he catches himself just standing there and staring. 

He gets nervous whenever is Harry around, which is always because they fucking live together. How is he going to cope? 

He'll need to move out. He can never talk to Harry again and he'll lose his best friend and his home and it's all just because he couldn't handle his own stupid heart. Pathetic.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks eventually. 

"Yeah, yes. Perfectly fine," Draco replies, too fast. He really has to get a grip on himself. 

Harry frowns at him but doesn't prod further. 

They decide to order pizza for dinner and bicker about what kind of film they want to watch. They settle on Never been kissed, which is neither one's favourite but sweet enough that they can't say anything against it. Draco almost feels normal about the whole thing. Until they sit side by side on the sofa, so close by each other that their thighs touch. 

Draco keeps on moving, can't sit still. His mind focuses solely on the contact point between his and Harry's body, so he has to keep changing it. It's ridiculous, he knows, but he can't help himself. 

Eventually Harry's hand finds his way on Draco's knee, stilling him effectively. The hand is warm and solid and Draco can't think of anything else. He knows Harry has callouses on his palms and fingers from wand use. He can't help but wonder how they might feel on his body. If it would be rough and catch on his own sensitive skin. Gods, he has to get a grip!

Draco's sole focus lies on this one contact point. He barely realises the big confession of feelings and, of course, finally Drew Barrymore being kissed in a full stadium. Then the after credits begin to roll across the screen. 

"I don't know about you but I'm knackered," Harry says. He gives Draco's knee a squeeze before stretching with both arms in the air. 

There is a sliver of skin visible on his stomach where his top rides up. Draco has to tear his eyes away from it. His mouth has gone dry. 

Fuck, Harry has said something, right? Shouldn't he reply? How long has it been? 

Harry stands up, ruffles his hair a bit and rights his glasses. He looks at Draco expectantly. 

"Yeah," Draco says, stupidly. He stands, as well, and follows Harry up the stairs. 

By the time Draco is ready for bed, Harry is already tucked in, his eyes closed, glasses on the bedside table next to his wand. Draco slips under the covers, trying his best not to rustle the mattress too much. As he settles in, he lets the familiar scent of Harry cocoon him. 

He sighs softly, finally comfortable.

"Draco," Harry says quietly beside him. He hasn't moved an inch.

"Hm?"

"Will you tell me what is going on with you?" 

Draco sucks in a breath, the sound incredibly loud in the silence of the night. 

Harry sighs and turns around, so he's properly facing Draco. 

"Draco?" 

"I … I don't really know what to say," he says meekly. Still, he turns, mirroring Harry's position

"Just tell me?" Harry's eyes are so wide without his glasses. So vulnerable and innocent, almost child-like. 

He can't bear looking at him. He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his palms against them. 

"I … I don't think I can," Draco whispers, barely audible to his own ears. 

He feels Harry's fingers gently pry his hands away from his face. He keeps his eyelids tightly pressed closed. 

"Can you look at me, Draco?" Harry pushes a strand of Draco's hair behind his ear and leaves his hand there, on his cheek, gently tracing his cheekbone and his jaw. His hand is so warm and gentle. The callouses on his palms are tangible, but they don't feel rough. It just feels like Harry.

Draco takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. And there Harry is, all soft and rumpled and beautiful. And so so close. It takes Draco's breath away. 

"There he is," Harry says softly, giving Draco one of those soft smiles that would have him weak in the knees. He's glad he's laying down. 

"You can tell me anything, you know?"

I love you, the words want to bubble out of his mouth. He presses his lips together tightly. He cannot possibly say that. It would ruin everything.

The tip of Harry's finger traces along the seam of Draco's lips. Draco's eyes go wide. 

He's so close. When did he get this close?

Even in the dim light, Draco can see little flecks of gold in his green eyes. He could count every one of his perfectly thick black lashes.

Harry takes his hand away from Draco's face. Draco wants to catch his wrist, hold him close and never let go. 

"Did I do something?" Harry whispers, a frown on his beautiful face. Draco wants to smooth it out with his fingers. 

"No, it's not you," Draco says fiercely. He pushes himself up on one elbow and somehow he ends up leaning over Harry. 

Harry lays back, eagerly, his black curls feathered out over the white linen of the pillow in perfect contrast. 

The soft light of the Lumos hits him just right, so that his skin glows golden and his eyes sparkle and gleam.

"You look like a painting," Draco murmurs, mostly to himself, but the widening of Harry's eyes betrays him. 

Draco waits for the outrage, the accusations, the screaming possibly. What he's not prepared for is the soft hand on the back of his neck pulling him down. He goes easily, because he would do anything Harry wants of him. 

The kiss is slow and gentle and overwhelming. Draco's body reacts on instinct, kissing back, taking Harry's lead. 

It's only a few brushes of lips against lips until Harry pulls back with a radiant smile.

"That okay?" he asks, tangling his fingers in Draco's hair. 

"More than," Draco feels his own grin splitting his face in reply.

He leans back in to kiss Harry again. It's already addicting. 

Harry gasps and Draco uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. 

Harry's hands are in his hair. He never liked people playing with his hair, but Harry being so purposeful with every one of his movements makes it feel wonderful. 

Harry pulls him closer by his hair, making him groan, as he lowers his body onto Harry's. 

He's surprised to find Harry hard against his hips. He smirks, down at him, grinding his own erection slowly, deliberately against Harry's.

"Ah. Draco," Harry gasps. 

"You really want this, don't you?" Draco teases. But he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for Harry's reply.

"Yes! Fuck, Draco! I want you," Harry tries to pull him back down, chasing his lips with his own.

"Yeah, you do," Draco murmurs, grinding his hips slower into Harry's. He leans in to just barely brush his lips against Harry's, drawing it out as long as he dares to. 

Harry pulls at him and pushes, grinding up against Draco, more and more desperately. 

"You're trying to torture me," Harry pouts. The way he actually protrudes his bottom lip and makes it wobble, makes Draco giggle. He feels hysterical with glee. 

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," Draco says with a wink.

Harry stops pouting, licking his lips instead. He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes and a second later, Draco is flipped onto his back, Harry above him, pinning him down. 

If Draco thought Harry underneath him was a sight to behold, nothing could have prepared him for the sight, the feeling, of Harry above him. 

"Gods, you're gorgeous," he says, a dreamy kind of quality in his voice. His cheeks burn hot, but Harry's soft smile makes all the embarrassment worth it. 

"You're gorgeous," Harry counters. Draco knows, he's probably blushing in ugly red blotches from his hairline, all the way down over his chest. Still the way Harry is looking at him is making up for it. 

"You want this, too, right?" Harry asks, gently, carefully. As if he's afraid of what the answer might be. As if there could be any doubt Draco is absolutely gone for him. 

"Yes, Harry." Draco cradles his cheek in his palm. He pushes his fingertips into messy black curls. 

"I want this. With you. I want you. I think I've wanted you for quite a while now. And I think you'll break my heart a little bit if this is only a one off for you. But I'm so gone for you, I will gladly take everything you're willing to give me. And I know I'm rambling right now. Please, shut me up?"

Harry's mouth crashes down on his hard. They kiss passionately, deeply, desperately, for what feels like hours. 

Draco urgently grinds his erection up, searching for any kind of friction.

His hands find their way under Harry's t-shirt, mapping out the lean muscles of his stomach. He gently grazes his nails over the skin, delighted as Harry shivers in response.

"Draco!" he whines. 

Draco does it again. And again. Until Harry sits up. Draco feels the loss of his body heat deep in his bones. 

But Harry quickly shrugs off his t-shirt, before he's back on Draco. His hands are everywhere. In his hair, under his top, on his waist, his hips, mapping the scars criss-crossing his abdomen. 

He lifts the hem of his top and before he can even ask, Draco whips it up and over his head. 

Harry looks down at him, all of him, scars and all. His fingers trace the long scar from his throat down, all the way down to where it disappears in the waistband of his pyjama trousers. 

There his fingers stop. He licks his lips, glances up at Draco's face. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yes," Draco nods eagerly. Together they both wriggle out of their trousers and pants, until finally they're gloriously naked. 

Harry kisses a scar on Draco's chest, softly, always so softly, then repositions them, so their hard cocks align. 

Draco groans at the feeling. 

Harry's hand moves between them, but stops, hesitating. 

"Harry, please, I need —"

"I got you," Harry murmurs into Draco's neck and finally, touches his cock. 

Draco gasps and arches into the touch. 

Harry's hand feels heavenly, so much better than he could have imagined and Draco is absolutely sure that it's all because it's Harry finally touching him. 

Draco wants to return the favour, make Harry feel as good as he does. But he can't quite get the angle right, their hands keep bumping together and the rhythm is somehow off. 

"Let me…" Harry says. He takes Draco's hand, lifts it to his mouth and licks a long stripe along his palm. All the while he looks at Draco, the green of his irises barely visible around blown wide pupils. It's the hottest thing ever. 

"Here," Harry says and puts Draco's hand around both their cocks. He guides his movement for a few strokes, rolling his hips to match the rhythm. 

The feeling of Harry's cock against his is so good. A hopeless moan escapes Draco's throat. 

"Just like that," Harry says with a groan. 

"Harry," Draco whines. With his free hand he pulls Harry down for a messy kiss, desperately licking at each other's mouths. 

"I'm gonna — Draco, I'm …"

"Do it," Draco growls. Just a few more strokes and Harry's cock goes incredibly harder in his fist, pulsating and shooting come all over Draco's fist, his cock and stomach. 

He moans beautifully and if Draco is being a hundred percent honest, the sound is what drives him over the edge right after. Coming in thick hot stripes, adding to Harry's mess. 

Harry collapses onto him, right into the mess they made. But, judging by the sweet kisses, he doesn't care and as for right now, neither does Draco. 

They kiss softly, sweetly, languidly, until the come and sweat between them dries on their skin. And then a little longer. 

"I can't believe you want me," Draco murmurs eventually. 

"Do you need me to prove it again?" Harry wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, making them both laugh.

"You could prove it by taking care of me and cleaning me up a bit?" Draco prompts, gesturing at the uncomfortable mess between them. 

Harry smiles softly and waves his hand. With a surge of magic, the mess vanishes, leaving a pleasant tingle behind. 

"Thank you," Draco says and tilts his head for another kiss. 

Harry complies easily. He can feel Harry's smile against his lips. He could really get used to this. 

"Let's get some rest," Harry says with a small yawn. 

Draco agrees with ease. He lets himself be arranged in a more comfortable position and snuggles closer to Harry, touching him as much as he possibly can get away with. 

"Good night, Draco," Harry says and kisses his bare shoulder. 

"Good night, darling," Draco says. 

When Draco wakes up, he's already smiling. He has his arms wrapped around Harry, his chest to Harry's back. His face is pressed against the back of Harry's neck. His curls tickle him just a little. Still he wouldn't want to change it for the world. 

He places a kiss against the soft skin at Harry's neck and pulls him just a little closer against himself. 

Harry's chest rumbles with a low chuckle, rough from sleep. 

"Good morning," Draco says into black curls. 

Harry turns in his arms. There's a surge of magic in the air and then a fresh taste in Draco's mouth. But he can't even complain about Harry using a mouth freshening charm on him without asking, as the next thing following the intrusive magic is Harry's lips against his. 

He sighs into the kiss, melting against Harry. 

"I should have done this ages ago." The words get muffled a bit, halfway lost in Harry's mouth. 

"Yes," Harry agrees with a soft giggle. "You could have just said, you fancied me. Instead of, you know, inventing that whole nonsense about hearing things on the roof." He chuckles again. But this time it leaves a sour taste in Draco's mouth despite the mouth-freshening charm.

"What?" he pulls back, hoping he didn't hear correctly. 

Harry pushes a strand of Draco's hair behind his ear, cradling his face in his palm. Draco wants to lean into the touch but he needs to hear what Harry is going to say next, first. He raises an eyebrow at him expectantly. 

Harry sighs. 

"You didn't need to lie, is all," he says eventually. 

"I didn't." Draco sits up, pulling his knees to his chest. 

Harry just looks at him. He lays there, looking beautiful with the early sunlight illuminating him just so. 

After a moment of staring at each other, Harry reaches over to get his glasses and shove them on his nose. 

"Come on, Draco. It's alright. You got me." He takes Draco's hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb. 

"You … you really don't believe me?" he asks meekly. 

"It's alright, Draco," Harry says with a smile. "I don't hold it against you. I mean you wanted to be closer to me and sleep in my bed and how were you supposed to know all you had to do was ask?" Harry gives him a smile that could have him swoon. But his words have his blood run cold. 

"No," he says, "it's really not." He pulls his hand from Harry's and gets out of bed. 

"Draco, don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? As in being upset when my best friend, now turned lover, accuses me of lying to him to get into his bed? I don't think so." With these words Draco flees Harry's bedroom. 

He rushes up the stairs to his own room, locking the door behind him. He throws himself onto his bed, frustrated tears already flowing freely.

Draco has oftentimes thought about possibly retiring his Glamour for work. He'd need a few spells to alter the memories of his coworkers, which is the number one reason why he never did it. It's not like he truly feels like he needs his Glamour at the shelter anymore. But today he's truly grateful for it. 

He puts the Glamour on like a mask, hiding his tear-swollen face and red-rimmed eyes under his magic. If no-one can see his tears, no-one will be asking any questions he very much isn't ready to answer.

He can't bear the thought of running into Harry now, so he just apparates to an alley close to the shelter right from his bedroom. 

Draco takes his time with the cats this morning. He enjoys their soft purrs as he scratches their ears and talks to them just like he always does. He asks them all about their weekend. Although, obviously, they don't reply in any way he can understand, he still cherishes the soft or sometimes very insistent meows he gets in return. 

Eventually everyone here is taken care of and he heads into the quarantine quarters.

Immediately his eyes stray to Stormcloud's crate. But there is another new little kitty that arrived early yesterday morning that needs to be taken care of first. 

A cute little tabby that is a bit shy but lets himself be handled effortlessly. Draco takes his temperature and checks him through the way Erin taught him when he first started working at the shelter. 

"Everything seems to be alright with you for now," he tells the cat. He will still need to be checked regularly for a few days until he's allowed with the other cats but his eyes and nose are clear and there is no sign of any kind of sickness on him at all. Draco has no doubt that the tabby will be alright. 

He gives him some more pets and scratches behind the ear and under the chin, making him purr and lean into his touch. 

"You're a sweet little one, aren't you? You'll find a new home in no time," he reassures the cat. 

He pets him a little longer but eventually he has to put the tabby back in his crate. 

"Now it's your turn." Draco stands in front of Stormcloud's crate. He takes a deep breath, calming his nerves — or trying to — and opens the crate. 

"Now, now, little Stormcloud. I've had a really bad morning after the best night of my life. So everything is looking a bit bleak today. Please be nice to me."

He puts his hand carefully in the opening of the crate, just the way he had to for the past week. 

Stormcloud, to his surprise, doesn't press close to the back of the crate, like she usually does. Instead, she watches him approach with wide, round eyes, not moving from her spot on the fluffy pink blanket. 

"Oh, darling, did you miss me?"

"Meow!" 

Draco stops in his tracks. Stormcloud has never meowed before. 

"Say that again, Stormy," he says quietly. 

"Meow?"

Draco chuckles softly. "Yes, just like that," he praises.

"Do you want to tell me about your weekend?" he asks, chit-chatty, just like he did with the other cats. 

Stormcloud only blinks at him. 

"No? How about I tell you about mine then?" 

Stormcloud lets out the softest little chirp that he takes as encouragement. 

"So, I've had a bit of a row with Harry, you see? I told you about him before, haven't I?" 

He goes on, telling Stormcloud all about how he came home Friday, to find Harry arguing with Ginny, how he got absolutely confused by his conversation with Pansy and Luna and how last night he thought it might all be turning out great, and finally the way he just jumped out of bed and fled this morning after they fought. 

"So now, I totally blew it all. I might have had the one chance of being with Harry but I acted totally hysteric this morning, ridiculously pathetic. There is no way in hell Harry might ever reconsider being with me for real after that." He lets out a deep sigh, absentmindedly wriggling his fingers in front of Stormcloud's face. 

She surprises them both by pushing her head against his hand, stilling his gesturing fingers at once. They both freeze just for the fraction of a second, then she pushes more firmly against his hand. 

Carefully, Draco moves his hand, not his fingers, his whole hand, against Stormcloud's face. He strokes with the gentlest of pressures, slowly all the way over her head to the back of her neck. 

Delighted he realises, she is butting her head against his hand, leaning into the touch he offers. 

"Oh are you being the cutest little thing today?" he tells her, awestruck. 

He keeps praising her, giving her treats and letting her rub herself all over his hand as much as she pleases. 

Eventually he feels perfectly safe to try and scratch her ears, which makes her purr, so right call on his side. He keeps petting her, making her purr like a little tractor, and uses his other hand to just hold the brush that's been in her crate over a week. Just hold it, not even move it towards her. 

This new prop doesn't deter her in her newfound love of being pet. She easily lets the back of the brush touch her, then rubs her head against the bristles and just like that Draco gets to brush her perfunctorily.

He even manages to pick her up and take out of her crate to just hold her. All the while she keeps purring loudly. Draco presses his face into her rumbling side, breathing in her warm, slightly antiseptic scent. 

Gods, purring cats just always have this wonderful, calming effect on him. 

He sits on the floor, back to the wall of crates, with Stormcloud in his lap, her face tucked against his chest, her paws kneading the gentlest of biscuits. Her chest is rumbling soft purrs with every one of her breaths. 

This is how Erin finds him, long after his shift has ended. 

"Oh, Draco, I thought—" she stops herself as she realises what she walked in on. Stormcloud stiffens in his arms, but a few rubs to her head have her relax again. 

"I thought you'd gone home already. Like you were supposed to," she begins again in a more soothing voice. She closes the door behind her and takes a few more steps toward him, before sliding down to the floor herself.

"I … didn't really feel like going home just yet…"

"Ah, trouble in paradise?" she asks with a knowing smile.

"I don't really want to talk about it…" Draco grits through his teeth. It’s not like he doesn't want to, per se, it's more that he already has talked about it at length. To a cat, yes, but if he has to recount the whole thing again he'll have to crawl into a hole. He has no idea how he's supposed to face Harry as it is. He doesn't need his, to be fair, rather motherly and well-meaning, boss to tell him how he fucked up the one good thing in his life.

"Alright, alright," she gives in easily, raising her hands in mock surrender. 

"So tell me how you got this feisty one tame?" she prompts instead.

"Oh, she just… needed a little love I guess." Just like he did today. 

He scratches her between her ears to demonstrate. Her purrs get louder, filling the room. 

Erin takes a long moment watching the two of them intently.

"I think she has decided," she says finally.

"Decided what?" 

"To trust you."

"Oh." Draco's heart expands at the thought. 

"You mean like … truly trust me? Forever?"

It would break his heart to find his cute little cuddle bug back to hissing and hitting the next day. 

"What does it feel like?" she ponders.

Draco takes a moment to look at Stormy. Her eyes are closed, her little face almost smiling in contentment. 

"Permanent," he grins down at Stormy. 

Erin smiles knowingly. She slowly raises from her spot on the floor.

"Oh, my knees can't really handle this kind of … bending anymore," she groans and shakes out her limbs. 

"You can borrow one of the carriers to take her home." With that she leaves a baffled Draco behind.

Draco dawdles at the shelter, making double and triple sure he has everything he would need until he could make a trip to the store to properly get Stormy everything she could wish for. He reassures himself with Erin every few minutes that it really was okay for him to take the cat, telling her, he had no experience fostering and what if he messes this up (like he messes up everything else in his life)?

"Listen, Draco," Erin says kindly, but firm, "this cat is very badly socialised. She is aggressive with other cats and people. I don't know if anybody else will take the time and effort to try and gain her trust. But I can guarantee that she would have to stay here, in that little crate, for a very long time. 

"You've taken the time and effort and it pays out. She trusts you now. And I've seen the way you interact with cats and her specifically. You aren't going to mess this up. Not irreparably at least. You'll be fine." She clasps him on the shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Thank you, Erin," Draco says. He opens the bag, making sure, again, he's got everything he needs.

"Now, get out of here," Erin chastises. 

Draco takes the long way home. It's already getting dark and he's really, really late, but maybe, just maybe, he'll be late enough that he won't have to deal with Harry anymore tonight. 

It's bizarre how just a few days ago he was becoming an anxious mess, just walking around his own neighbourhood, and now he deliberately takes detours to stay out on the streets longer. Weird how determination can change everything. 

Stormcloud is barely a weight in her carrier. Draco has shrunk his other bag as soon as he was out of the shelter to put it in the pocket of his cloak. So he only has to carry Stormy. She wasn't too happy to be put in a carrier, but there is no sign of distress from her of being carried all around London.

Eventually, though, even the longest detour has to come to an end. 

Draco's hand shakes as he unlocks the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

He tiptoes inside, quickly shedding his shoes and cloak. He can hear clatter from the kitchen, so he just as quickly and quietly as he can possibly manage heads up the stairs all the way to his room. 

Only once the door is firmly shut and locked behind him, does he relax. 

He puts the carrier on his bed, opening it so Stormcloud can take her time and come out whenever she feels like it. She doesn't hiss at him as he gets back in her field of vision, which he takes as a good sign. Then he unshrinks the bag filled with her things and begins setting them up as comfortably as he can manage. 

Once satisfied, he sits down next to the carrier. Stormy is still inside, looking at him with big round eyes. 

For the first time, Draco realises Stormy has never seen him without his Glamour before. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he says in his gentlest voice. "I know, I don't look the way you remember me. But I'm still me. No need to be afraid." 

He carefully puts his hand near the opening of the carrier. Hopefully this won't turn bloody, he thinks. 

But as it turns out, he needn't have worried. Either cats in general can see through Glamours or something or Stormcloud has recognised him by his voice. Either way, she happily rubs her face against Draco's hand and lets herself be coaxed out of the carrier. 

She demands to be pet for a few minutes, perfectly content, purring loudly. Eventually, though, she gets curious. Draco watches her slowly make her way around the room, taking in everything, sniffing here and there. 

Belatedly Draco realises she'll need water. 

Quickly, he conjures up a bowl and fills it with an Aguamenti. 

Stormy watches him wave his wand with interest, but doesn't seem fazed at all at seeing him do magic. 

Again Draco muses if that is a general cat thing or if Stormy is just that special. He secretly thinks it's the latter. 

Draco watches her a little longer, fascinated by the way this shy little cat is perking up in his presence, in her new home. 

He spends the rest of the day trying to read. He left the novel he'd been reading in the living room and there's no way in hell he'll go down there and get it as long as Harry is home. So he picks up another novel he'd already finished a few months ago. 

He settles on his bed with a sigh. 

Of course, he'll need to talk to Harry eventually. He knows that. But the chances are slim that he'll be able to fix it. And if he can't fix it, there's no possible way he can stay here. Not that Harry would throw him out, mind. He'll probably even suggest they stay friends. But Draco could barely be normal with Harry once he figured out his own feelings. Put in an actual rejection, how is he supposed to cope with that? How is he supposed to be living with the person who he's desperately in love with after he got rejected? 

Things will be bad soon enough. There is no harm in dragging out the inevitable just a little longer. 

"Meow," Stormy looks at Draco insistently. This is the third time his stomach had growled since they came home. 

He glances at the clock on his bedside table. It's half twelve. Usually they'd be done with their movie and about to go to bed. If Harry sticks to their routine he'll be in bed in a little while. Or maybe he already is. 

Draco listens into the house. Are those the creaking steps? Or is it just the ordinary creaks of an old house? 

Draco sighs. He'll give it a few more minutes and then sneak downstairs. If he's quick he can possibly get by the living room into the kitchen, even if Harry is still watching telly.

Just as he settles back in, his book propped up in his lap, Stormcloud cuddled close by his side, there's a knock on his door. 

"Draco?" Harry calls. "I know you're home. I can feel you in the wards. Can you … Can we talk? Please?" 

Draco freezes. So does Stormcloud. 

Draco puts the book away and Stormy immediately takes its place. She purrs loudly. Draco heart warms at the thought that she can sense his anxiety and wants to calm him so readily. 

"Thank you, baby," he whispers and strokes her soft little head. 

"Come on, Draco! Please?" Harry calls again. 

"Fine." With a wave of his wand Draco unlocks the door. Harry, of course, could've just barged in. His magic is powerful enough to evaporate Draco's locking charm easily. He's simply decent enough not to do it. 

"Draco?" The door opens with its usual creak. Then there are steps on the stairs. Draco braces himself. Still the sight takes his breath away a little. Harry with his messy black curls, the bronze, tan skin, the very green of his eyes, looking at him all soft and … uncertain. Oh, that's not right. 

"Oh, you have … company," Harry says. He stops at the top of the stairs, not even walking into the room, really.

"Erm, yeah. You said it was okay," Draco says quickly, holding on to Stormcloud a little too tightly. He forces his hands to relax as she voices her distress. 

"No, I know. It's fine. Can I come closer or will she … not like that?" 

Gods, Harry is so considerate. Even of this cat's feelings, he only knows from Draco's stories. So … considerate of this cat he never even met. But he won't believe Draco about the steps on the roof. 

Draco sets his jaw. 

"Just don't come too close," he drawls. 

Harry moves warily. Slowly he comes closer, and gingerly sits on the foot of Draco's bed. His back is stiff and he keeps worrying at the hem of his top. 

"Did you want anything in particular?" Draco pretends to check for dirt under his fingernails. 

"Did I…? Yes!" Harry exclaims. He visibly takes a deep breath before continuing. 

"Draco, can you please not be like this?"

"Like what?" Draco shoots back. 

"Look, I realise now, that I hurt you. And I never meant to. I'm sorry." 

"Oh yeah. You're sorry. So everything has to be alright now, right? Because you didn't mean to and you're sorry!" Draco didn't mean to raise his voice, but it drips with venom as he spits the words at Harry. And it works. Every word makes Harry flinch a little. It doesn't feel as good as Draco thought it would. 

Draco sighs. 

The apology is already on his tongue, as suddenly, Stormcloud jumps from his lap, arches her back and hisses loudly. 

Harry leaps to his feet. In his haste, scrambling to get away, he trips, landing square on the plush carpet. 

"Stormcloud!" Draco chastises. 

"Sorry, are you alright?" he holds out a hand to help Harry up. 

"Hmpf!" Harry rubs the back of his head. He takes Draco's hand and lets Draco haul him to his feet. 

"I just … hit my head," Harry says slowly. They sit back down, a bit closer together. Harry rights his glasses and rubs the back of his head again. It makes his messy hair even messier. He looks adorable.

Stormcloud hisses again, recapturing their attention. 

"Storm—" Contrary to what Draco has expected, she is not hissing at Harry. She has all her focus trained on the window. 

There is nothing to be seen through the roof window. Everything is pitch black outside. 

"Stormy," Draco says carefully. He picks her up and cradles her to his chest. She immediately settles against him, calmed by the touch, but her focus remains with the window. 

Then the noises begin. 

It's a soft scratching at first. Just left of the window frame. Then there's a big crack a few feet further down. Then the steps begin. Loud and rumbling steps walk over the roof, from left to right, and back again. 

Draco is frozen to the spot in fear. It's never been this bad. But then he wasn't here for a few nights to actually hear any of it. 

"Draco!" Harry exclaims. He moves so that he obstructs Draco's view of the roof window. He can only look at the messy hair at the back of Harry's head. 

The steps stop for a moment. Only to resume even louder, a bit further down on the roof. 

"They're getting away!" Harry jumps to his feet, and quicker than Draco can comprehend, rips open the window, steps on the edge of the bed and sticks his head right outside, wand at the ready. 

He stands there for what feels like an eternity. 

"Draco, come here," he whispers urgently. Draco gently places Stormcloud on the bed. He swallows. This is it. Time to see who has been evoking this absolute terror in him. 

Harry has to take a step back to let him look out the window and onto the roof. 

"It's alright. I'm right here," he says. He puts a hand on Draco's arm, steadying him. 

Draco looks. 

Right there, at the edge of the roof, illuminated by a soft Lumos, so familiar, Harry has to have cast it, is a family of raccoons. Three little ones, falling over each other in play and one bigger one, probably the mother, looking intently right at Draco. 

"Raccoons?" Draco almost can't believe it. 

He climbs from the bed. "Raccoons!" He erupts in hysteric laughter. No way has he been filled with dread and horror for weeks by a family of raccoons playing on the roof! How fucking ridiculous! Just ridiculous enough that, yes, this is exactly what happened! 

Draco laughs until he can't breathe. He laughs until tears stream down his face. He laughs until he can't stand and has to sit, no lay, down right there on the floor.

Eventually his laughter subsides. He wipes the tears off his face, still catching his breath. 

Draco looks up into Harry's completely dumbstruck face. 

They look at each other for a long time. 

"Draco, I'm so sorry," Harry says finally. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. I just thought … it doesn't really matter now…" he trails off. 

Draco holds out his hand but instead of letting himself be pulled up, he pulls Harry down to sit on the floor with him. He holds on to Harry's hand. 

"It really hurt that you wouldn't believe me," he says quietly. 

"I know. I'm so sorry. I swear it won't happen again. No matter what weird things you claim to hear I'll believe you," Harry adds with a look up at the still open window. 

Draco smiles to himself. That's more like it.

"I really didn't mean to hurt you. Especially not after … after last night finally happened." A lovely soft blush spreads over Harry's face. 

"I hate to think I ruined that," he adds softly. Hopefully. 

Draco giggles in response. He just can't help himself. There's something so giddy about this moment. 

"I thought — The whole day I was so sure I was the one who ruined that. That you wouldn't want me after I'd gone crazy on you."

"You could never! There's nothing you could do to stop me from loving you!" Harry says fiercely. And freezes. The blush deepens and creeps down into his collar. 

"Really?" Draco smirks. 

Harry catches his eyes. A huge grin forms on his lovely face. 

"Yeah," he admits. And Draco lunges. 

He throws himself so forcefully at Harry that they tumble to the ground. Harry catches him easily, closing his arms around him tightly. 

"I'm never letting you go again," he says giggling as Draco peppers his face with tiny kisses. 

Finally he reaches his lips, pecking him briefly once, twice. 

When Harry grabs him by the hair to hold him in place he groans. They finally kiss properly, just as Draco's stomach growls urgently. 

Draco pulls back laughing. 

"Maybe we should get you some dinner before bed," Harry smirks. 

"Yes, in a bit," Draco says and leans back in to kiss him again.