Chapter Text
Their week flew by between work and trying to clean out and remodel Grimmauld Place.
And have copious amounts of sex. So much sex, that Harry was pretty sure muscles that he didn’t even know he had ached. So much sex, that Harry was pretty much constantly on an endorphin induced high. It was marvelous.
When Friday morning rolled around, Draco’s alarm went off first like it always did so he could go and do yoga. Harry groaned and his arm closed tighter around the other man’s waist. He pressed a sloppy kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, pulling Draco back into his embrace more fully, cradling his arse against his pelvis. “You’re warm,” he sighed, nuzzling against Draco's neck
Draco chuckled, he was always awake as soon as his alarm went off, unlike Harry, who positively hated waking up in the morning. He rolled over under Harry’s arm and body and brushed his fingers through Harry’s curls, making Harry hum happily and snuggle closer.
“Let’s skive off work today,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead.
“Mmhmm,” Harry hummed. “N’ have sex all day,” he added, rubbing his hands over his arse.
The puff of laughter lifted Harry’s hair from his forehead and Draco traced his scar. “We need to finish furnishing Grimmauld Place. I was thinking that we should maybe clean up a couple of the bedrooms while we’re at it, in case anyone wants to stay overnight.”
Harry sighed and bumped his nose against Draco's, “Too much talking, it’s too early.”
Draco huffed at him but his fingers traced over Harry’s back, soothing him and Harry thought he could get used to this. Contentment radiated through every inch of his being, leaving him feeling like it was a summer's day, like he'd spent his day warm in the sun, exhilarated from flying.
He might like to wake up like this everyday.
The next time he woke up, he was alone in bed. With a groan he climbed out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, running his fingers through his wilder-than-usual-thanks-to-the-spectacular-sex curls.
When he reached the kitchen he found Draco working over the stove top. “I love pancakes,” he said as he hopped up on the counter to watch him.
“They are crepes, you uncultured swine,” Draco said, flicking his eyes up to look Harry over before looking back at the very delicate looking pancake.
“I’ve never had crepes before,” Harry murmured as he reached into the bowl of berries and plucked out a raspberry. He bit into it and flavor burst over his tongue, whatever the syrup was with the berries was tangy and fresh and sweet all at once. “Oh Merlin, forget the crepes, just give me a spoon and let me eat these berries,” he groaned as he reached in for a fat, juicy looking blackberry.
Malfoy swatted the back of his hand with his thin spatula.
“Ouch,” Harry muttered as he drew his hand back and popped the blueberry he'd accidentally grabbed instead into his mouth.
“That did not hurt you, you big baby,” Malfoy replied as he rolled his eyes.
“Well it surprised me.”
Draco rolled his eyes again, “I made you a cup of coffee. It’s over on the island.”
“You’re the best,” Harry said as he summoned his coffee cup over and into his outstretched hands. “I hate mornings.”
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed,” Draco deadpanned.
He rolled his eyes and took a sip. “Can I have one of the strawberries?” Harry begged, giving Draco his very best puppy dog eyes.
“Your pathetic face doesn’t work on me, Potter,” Draco said.
“Pleeease,” Harry wheedled. “They’re my favorite.”
“You’re insufferable,” Draco said but he levitated a strawberry up toward Harry’s lips nonetheless.
Harry grinned and bent forward to catch it in his mouth, “Thank you.”
“Menace,” Draco replied, but he was smiling down at the frying pan and it made Harry grin even wider.
It was only a few more minutes until Draco had plated their crepes, filling them with berries and topping them with more berries and powdered sugar. Harry’s mouth watered.
“Come on,” Draco said, levitating the plates, “We can make a game plan for the day while we eat.”
They sat down and Harry dug into his crepe and let out a groan, “Godric.” He licked the syrup off his fork and moaned again.
“You sound like a porno,” Draco informed him, his cheeks flushed pink, but he looked distinctly pleased.
“There was a time,” Harry said through a mouthful of crepe, “That I would have said this was better than sex.”
“And now?” Draco asked before taking a haughty sip of coffee.
“Well, the sex is quite a bit better now, so the food standard has gone way, way up.”
Draco smirked over his cup, his eyes down on the coffee, like he didn’t want Harry to see how pleased he was.
“Who taught you how to cook crepes?”
“My grandmere,” Draco replied. “It’s a family secret, but when she was young, sixteen or seventeen, I think? She fell in love with a muggle.”
“Your grandmother?” Harry asked, surprised.
Draco nodded, “Yes, it was quite the scandal.”
“No doubt. What happened?”
“Oh, her parents refused to let her see him, arranged a marriage for her, you know the usual pureblood bullshit.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is,” he replied, “He taught her to cook a few different things and then grandmere learned more after she got married to my grandfather; she loved to cook. I think it was a reminder for her of l’amour vrai,” he said fondly. “When I was young and visited her for vacations, she would bring me to the kitchen and teach me to cook while she told me stories, while she told me how to know if I’d found ‘the one’. She was lovely,” he said wistfully.
“She sounds it,” Harry replied.
“Anyway,” Draco said, clearing his throat and taking a bite of crepe.
Harry followed suit and they ate quietly for a little while, “What time is it?” he asked, glancing out the window and thinking that the sun was really seeming very bright.
“Mmm, half ten ish.”
“Half ten?!” Harry yelped. “We were supposed to be to work hours ago.”
“I called in sick,” Draco said with a shrug.
“For both of us?”
“Of course. You’re a terrible liar. I told him we’d both caught some nasty cold, you were still in bed after puking up your guts all night.”
“Gross,” Harry said.
“Yep," he agreed cheerfully. "In the meantime, I thought that you and I could go shopping today, get all of the furniture we need for Grimmauld place, clean out a few bedrooms in case anyone needs to stay overnight.”
“No farmers markets, then,” Harry teased.
“No,” he said, frowning a bit.
“Ah well,” Harry replied with a laugh. "I suppose it might be too much to bring home someone else when I've got you in my bed."
Draco looked at him uncertainly, "I-"
"Sorry," he said quickly. "Just a joke." He shook his head, feeling embarrassed and like he'd said too much. This was all just casual, he reminded himself.
"Well," Draco replied, around his final bite of crepe, "It wouldn't be my first threesome." He winked at Harry and stood, "I'm going to shower."
And Harry was left there, equal parts trying to imagine that scenario and trying not to burn up with jealousy.
------------------
Once they were both ready to go out for the day, they put on glamours so they wouldn’t be recognized and Draco took him to a furniture shop.
The furniture shop wasn’t like anything Harry had expected. He'd expected Draco to take him somewhere posh, and tidy, and sterile. A place where there were designer logos and sleek, clean lined furniture.
But this was a cluttered shop filled with all sorts of interesting furniture. It wasn’t posh and tidy at all. He wasn't even sure where to start because it was a bit crowded without any discernible organization.
They made their way around the shop trying out couches and beds and armchairs and true to his word, Draco helped him find perfectly squishy furniture that he could sink into. He giggled as he watched the other man struggling to get out of his chair, “It’s eating me!” Draco hissed, with a chuckle of his own. “If it’s squishy you want, this is the one for you.”
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” a posh woman, in well tailored robes asked.
“Err,” Harry started, feeling caught out like a naughty child.
Draco, though, had no such compunction. His face smoothed out and he looked over imperiously at the sales girl as though he wasn't stuck in a squishy armchair, “Yes. We’re refurnishing his house, it hasn’t been updated since the sixties. You liked that lovely mahogany bed frame and dresser set over there, right?”
Harry shrugged, “Sure.”
Draco rolled his eyes, “You’re not going to be any help whatsoever, are you?”
“I’ll carry things,” Harry said with a grin.
“I usually charge for my services."
“Lucky me, then,” Harry said lasciviously.
The girl cleared her throat and Harry’s attention snapped back to her guiltily.
"We're going to be purchasing quite a lot of furniture," Draco said, clearing his throat. "Could we have some tags, please?"
Draco talked and talked about his visions for the rooms as he headed around the store, they tagged all of the furniture they were taking and Harry followed him around in a bit of a daze, unable to even imagine how all of the furniture was going to fit.
When they were done, she totaled up their order and then shrunk everything down to fit in a box that could be easily carried back. After paying a small fortune they apparated back to the house and spent the rest of the day re-enlarging the furniture and setting up the house.
Well, Harry re-enlarged the furniture, set it up, then waited for Draco to come in from the last room he’d set up to rearrange it again. Annoying as it was, Harry had to admit that Draco did do a better job of setting things out. It was 4:00 in the afternoon by the time they collapsed onto the new couch in the living room, the house finally finished.
“That,” Harry said, groaning as he sunk into the squishy cushions of his couch, “Was exhausting.”
Draco chuckled at him, “I’m glad that we picked up the liquor on Tuesday and made all of the snacks last night.”
“Me too,” Harry groaned, flopping over on his side, putting his head in Draco’s lap.
Fingers carded gently through his curls, untangling the knots as he went. It was so soothing, so sweet, and it made Harry feel so warm inside, more content than he could ever remember feeling. He closed his eyes, just for a minute, to enjoy Draco’s fingers in his hair.
Just one minute.
“Harry,” a gentle voice murmured, “Wake up.”
“Mmm?” he hummed.
“You have standing Friday night obligations with Weasley and Hermione.”
Harry groaned, he wasn’t ready to see Hermione and hear her lectures. “Don’t want to,” he mumbled, pushing his face into Draco’s stomach. “M’sleepy.”
“Come on,” Draco’s amused voice encouraged as his fingers continued to card through Harry’s hair. “I never fully grasped how much of an introvert you are.”
“Does that mean we can stay home?”
“No,” he replied, voice still amused and honey-warm.
Harry sighed, “Fine. Let’s go back so we can change, then we can floo over.”
Eventually they made it over to Ron and Hermione’s, Harry couldn’t help whinging the entire time. It had been fun to spend the day with just Draco; painting, cleaning, decorating, none of it should have been enjoyable but it had been. Selfishly, he didn’t want to go and share him with Ron and Hermione and he certainly didn't want to hear whatever they were going to say about him and Draco.
When they arrived, via floo this time, Draco leaned forward to place a kiss on Hermione’s cheek and clapped Ron on the shoulder, good-naturedly ribbing him about wizard’s chess, and it was like this was something they’d done for years rather than mere weeks.
“Hey, you,” Hermione said, leaning in and pressing her lips to his cheek. “Are you with us?”
“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Just thinking.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Draco said as he accepted a glass of wine from Ron. “He’s going to tell you he’s exhausted but we didn’t even go to work today.”
“Oh?” Hermione asked, eyes on Harry, “And what did you spend the day doing instead?”
“Cleaning, painting, decorating, and refurnishing Grimmauld for the party tomorrow.”
“You finally got him to clean out that filthy old hovel?” Ron asked as Hermione ushered them to the table for dinner, pasta from the looks of it.
“Well, it was his idea,” Draco defended, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Hermione to sit.
“What a gentleman,” Hermione said pointedly at Ron.
Draco laughed then continued his original train of thought, “Potter was the one who wanted to have a party and my flat is much too small. If he happened to benefit from my excellent taste,” Draco shrugged with a smirk, “so be it.”
Dinner was easy and light, and Harry found himself quietly absorbing the conversation and banter around him. It had to be a sign, didn’t it? Every other potential partner seemed to shrink in the face of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. They’d always been intimidated by their closeness. Meanwhile, Draco encouraged it; he'd practically dragged him this evening. And here he was, talking to them like they’d been mates all their lives.
Was he like that with Draco’s friends? Did he fit in as seamlessly in Draco’s life as the other man did in his life? Was Draco better for him than he was for Draco?
Had Draco spent the day feeling like he was walking on air? Had he felt the same bone deep happiness and contentment? Was he daydreaming about more? Or was it all just Harry?
“Potter?” Draco said, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Sorry?” Harry asked.
“Hermione asked you to pass the bread. Are you sleeping?”
“Maybe,” Harry said with a strained smile, the thoughts and worries still circling in his mind.
Draco tilted his head consideringly at him and Harry quickly averted his eyes, not wanting the other man to read whatever was going on in his head at that point. To distract himself, he handed the bread over to Hermione who was still talking about the research she’d been working on this week.
“Would you excuse me?” he asked, reaching out and grabbing the pitcher in the center of the table, “I’m just going to fill this with a little more water. Be right back,” he added as he slipped out of his chair and fled to the kitchen.
He genuinely wasn’t sure which of them would end up following him out to the kitchen but he knew that one of them was going to. Not a single one of them could leave well enough alone. As he was just trying to decide who he’d prefer to have this particular crisis with, Ron wandered into the kitchen, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Seems nice,” Ron said casually as he leaned against the counter and cast a mufliato at the door.
He frowned, “Sorry?”
“Look,” he said, eyebrows furrowing a bit, "I never thought this crazy partnership with Malfoy was going to work."
"You and me both," Harry muttered.
"But the two of you," he shrugged, "You're good for each other."
"We're shagging," Harry blurted.
Ron flushed but nodded, "I know."
"It's just casual-" he started to justify, before shaking his head. "Wait. What? How?" he asked.
The other man shrugged, "I know you," he said softly. "I'm worried about you."
"Why?"
"Because you don't do casual sex. And Malfoy seems really great and you two seem to get along really well, but-"
"Not you too," he groaned.
He shrugged, unrepentant. "You don't have the best track record."
And Harry would be lying if he said that he hadn't imagined what things might be like if they decided to give it a proper go. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't fallen asleep dreaming about being the person in a little cottage that Draco came home to at night. But none of that mattered, none of it changed reality. "Nothing can happen," he said. "We can't be anything more because if we were one of us would get reassigned. And I like having him as my partner."
"Right-"
"And besides," he interrupted, "He fits so much better into my life than I do into his. What have I actually got to offer him?"
Ron laughed, a loud, belly laugh as he looked at Harry like he was waiting for him to join in. Then, when Harry didn't, "Wait. Seriously?" he asked incredulously.
He folded his arms over his chest, "Yes, seriously."
His friend blinked, then crossed the kitchen to put a hand on his shoulder. "You are the best person I know. You can be a cranky, grumpy, whingy bugger but you're also the kindest, most selfless, funny, good person I know. If you think that Draco Malfoy doesn't know he's the luckiest bastard alive, you're wrong."
He shrugged miserably.
"You should talk to him," he said softly.
"Are you kidding me? He's going to think that I'm some desperate idiot who can't distinguish between an orgasm and falling in love."
"I mean," he trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, mate. Hermione made me read a book about sexuality-"
"A book," Harry deadpanned.
"and," he continued, valiantly in spite of the way Harry was looking at him like he'd lost the plot, he hadn't been put into Gryffindor for nothing, Harry supposed, "she told me that you identify as demisexual."
"I don't identify as anything," he snapped, "she identifies me as demisexual."
"Right," he conceded but still soldiered on, "but the thing is that it makes sense."
"It makes sense," he repeated flatly.
He nodded, "yes. Looking at your relationships, looking at how and when you choose to have sex," he shrugged. "I'll believe you if you tell me that you're not, but if you are-" he broke off and sighed, "You're already in love with Malfoy, aren't you?"
Harry's eyes stung and he turned away, fighting to get a proper breath.
"Harry," Ron said softly. "No one's judging you, mate. Hermione and me," he shrugged, "well. We just want you to be happy, that's all. We don't want you to get hurt. Shockingly, Draco seems like a decent bloke, really, but does he want the same things as you?"
He bit his lip and shrugged miserably.
"All I'm saying is maybe it's worth having a conversation about. Maybe he feels the same."
"Maybe he doesn't," he muttered petulantly.
"Maybe he doesn't," Ron conceded, "but I'd wager that he does because I see the way he looks at you." He shrugged, "it requires a bit of bravery," he added, "and only one of you is a Gryffindor." He patted Harry on the shoulder, "Just something to think about."
Harry stayed in the kitchen after Ron left, staring through the window and trying to wrap his head around just how fucked he was.