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Draco stood looking inside the closet he and Blaise shared in their master bedroom.
“This is impossible,” he said.
“It’s not impossible. If you’d just get rid of a few things or made less space between them, then they’d all fit,” Harry rebutted.
Draco turned and stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Get rid of-?!” he stuttered.
“Look, if you’d just-,” Harry began and made a move to adjust things in the closet before Draco made a gasping sound and Harry dropped his hands instantly.
Draco calmed down, seeing that Harry was not going to touch their priceless clothing items with his careless hands. He pulled Harry back behind him, in safe range, and inspected the closet again.
“No. It’s definitely impossible. Your clothes won’t fit, Harry, not in space nor in style,” he confirmed.
Harry made an annoyed grumble and Blaise chuckled from the bed, where he was flipping through a Witch Weekly, having long given up even pretending to offer assistance. They’d already updated their bed size from a King to an Emperor. The new bed space was transcendent.
“We could try enhancing it with wizard space again,” Blaise mused.
“You know that won’t work,” Draco countered. “We stretched the wizard space dimensions as far as we could trying to fit even just our clothes in here. It’s a miracle the spells haven’t failed and spewed our items out already.”
Blaise hummed an acknowledgement of this point.
Combining homes was…a challenge. They’d all been together for a few months now and Harry was slowly integrating himself into Draco and Blaise’s lives even more than he had before. And while Harry had taken over their guest bedroom months ago, other things from his home slowly started shifting to Draco and Blaise’s over time. It wouldn’t be long before Harry gave up his original house altogether for the life they were all building here.
Harry’s toiletries were in the master bath. His favourite coffee mug was sat near “his spot” on the couch. His favourite jumper was casually tossed in the chair by Draco’s side of the bed. The last big thing to integrate was Harry’s wardrobe, but there was no way that Harry’s flannels and cheap cotton could share space with Draco and Blaise’s dragonhide leather, their silks and satins and Vicuna wool. It was impossible.
“No, I think Harry’s clothes may just have to stay in the guest room,” Draco pondered, still staring at the master closet.
Harry shrugged. “That’s fine with me. It’s still plenty big enough for my stuff and I don’t have to hear you tell me I’m putting my greasy fingers all over your satin tops.”
“Your fingers are greasy! Didn’t I show you the shirt you absolutely ruined by gripping it too hard when you grabbed me?!” Draco argued.
“I don’t remember you complaining that he was gripping you too hard when he was kissing the daylights out of you, cuore mio,” Blaise said, flipping his magazine page without even bothering to look at his partners across the room.
Draco made an indignant noise in Blaise’s direction while Harry smirked at him.
“Can’t say I recall any objections then, either,” Harry remarked.
“The problem wasn’t the kiss but the greasy fingers!” Remembering the kiss, Draco couldn’t fight off his blush, despite his continued gripes.
“Mhmm. Well, not to worry, love. I’ll keep my clothes in the guest room if that’s easier. And I’ll do you one better. I’ll even use the guest bath in the morning so I can stop rushing you out of the loo before you’re done primping,” Harry offered.
Draco made another indignant noise while Blaise guffawed from the bed.
“You do take an inordinate amount of time in the washroom in the morning, caro. He’s not wrong.”
“Do you both think looking like this just happens?!” Draco grumbled. “It doesn’t. It takes time to be this beautiful and it can’t be rushed.”
Harry smiled at him, indulgent. He couldn’t say he could argue when the results were as magnificent as Draco. “I’m sure it does, love.”
And to ward off Draco’s pique, Harry pulled him into another kiss likely to ruin more of his clothes while Blaise looked on fondly from the bed.