Part Three.

Note: If this update shows up on the story alert, I'm so sorry for those of you who who come over, guns a'blazing, hoping for a real update. I'm reuploading this now because I was reading over some of my old stuff and realized that a lot of this section was in the past tense, which was just wrong, wrong, wrong, and I compulsively had to fix it. Also, as of now consider this story on hiatus- not that there's no chance that I'll ever revisit it, but I do have other fandoms and other stories eating up my attention, and to be frank, I feel I've outgrown this story a little. I appreciate everyone's response and all the lovely feedback I've gotten, but I honestly don't feel that I can continue this story right now. I hope no one's too disappointed- it's been a long time already, so I figure everyone's probably already given up hope. g

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Harry walks down the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley, Draco next to him. At Draco's insistence, they aren't even holding hands, and while Harry honestly doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks, Draco obviously does, so Harry bowed down to his wishes and stopped any outward displays of affection.

Just their presence is enough to cause quite a bit of a stir, though. People always get into a bit of a tizzy whenever he goes out in public, which was why he so very rarely does it. But to be there, in the middle of the biggest wizarding hotspot in London, and with his former enemy? It is a big deal. Harry didn't figure that anyone would even remember his school-day feud with Draco, much less care, but Draco told him that the wizarding world has the memory of an elephant and was addicted to gossip, and Harry has to admit that he was right.

So they walk down the street next to each other and Harry blithely ignores the quiet gasps of surprise and the furious whispering that follow them everywhere while Draco tries his best not to cringe. He is wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, both of which belong to Harry and were hastily witched to fit by their distracted owner. Distracted because Draco was standing there looking at the too-large clothing with dismay and wearing nothing but a pair of drooping boxers, and Harry is so not above being distracted by a little- well, a lot- of skin.

Especially when it's Draco's. Harry can already tell that the other man is fast becoming an obsession, and sees absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Their first stop today was Olivander's, for a wand to replace the one that Draco's former master broke. Harry can't help but notice that Draco holds onto his new wand- ebony with dragon heartstring, ten inches long and slender, a wand for power but with careful casting- even as they are walking down the street, though he has it tucked into his front pocket for appearance's sake. Wouldn't do to walk around with your wand drawn, especially not in a crowded place like Diagon Alley, but Draco keeps one hand on his hip, fingers resting over the end of his wand, as if to reassure himself that it is still there.

Harry can understand that. He might outwardly behave as if disgusted with his magic, but he can't imagine how empty his life would feel without it. Like a piece of his soul was gone. Then again, he doesn't have to worry about losing touch with it the way most witches and wizards have to.

Speaking of... He sees Draco glance at him, and he knows what the question is going to be before the other man can say it, but he already decided that he isn't going to hide anything from Draco, so he makes no effort to stop Draco from asking.

"Um¼ I couldn't help but notice that you don't carry a wand."

Which doesn't mean that he likes hearing the question. "I don't use one," he says shortly. "Haven't had to since¼ well, you know."

Draco stops dead and stares at him in disbelief, forgetting for a moment the crowds of people he was so nervous about just minutes before. "You're kidding. No one can do wandless magic."

Harry just shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably. "I can. Something about the storm of magic when I fought Voldemort, it screwed with my receptors or whatnot. Ask Hermione, she had the whole thing figured out. She explained it to me, but I try not to listen when she's lecturing. Even if it is something that I probably should know."

Draco shakes his head disbelievingly, but starts walking again. "I cannot believe that you don't use a wand. How do you work magic, anyway? So much of it is the motion of the wand, you must have had to-"

"Relearn everything? Not really," Harry says with another shrug. "It's not that I can't use a wand, you know. I just don't have to. And when I do work magic without one, well, it's more instinctive than rote. I just sort of know how to shape the spell." When Draco says nothing, Harry adds, "Wands are just a conduit, you know. A way to shape your magic so that it does something specific. Probably everyone could do wandless magic; they'd just rip the roof off the Hogwarts castle if they tried. Whatever happened to me, it caused me to be able to see the shape of the spell without having to use a wand. Which is why I can wander around without a wand. I do still have mine, though. S'pose I'll have to drag it out again if I'm going to teach a bunch of kiddies to be heroes."

Draco snorts, setting aside the issue of wandless magic as something that can be explored later, when Harry isn't looking quite so serious. "Heroes my ass. Can you remember what we were like at that age?"

"Sadly, yes. It's not a pleasant memory." He pauses, and a wistful expression crosses his face. "Well, some aren't. Some of them¼ Times were simpler then, if nothing else."

"I'll agree with that," Draco says. Then he ducks his head, glances a little shyly at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "I think I prefer now, though. Despite everything."

Harry doesn't reach out and grab his hand like he wants to, and instead satisfies himself with a bright smile and says, "I think I do, as well. Despite everything."

He sees Draco flush a little at the very clear meaning behind Harry's words and smile, but it fades to a dead white when he sees where Harry stopped. "No. Really. We don't have to do this. I'll be fine."

Harry looks back over his shoulder at him, turning away from the display window of Madame Malkin's Dress Shop that he had been perusing. "Be fine with what, club clothes? Not exactly suitable Hogwarts gear." Draco still looks panicked, and Harry sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "Look. I would be more than happy to magic every last one of my robes till it was your size, except for the fact that I'm going to have to wear them myself if I'm going to be teaching. That means that you need robes of your own." He pauses. "You know what you said earlier, about preferring now to then? Well, it's not like I'm holding a grudge because you were a twat when you were a kid, and I'm pretty sure that you're not holding one because I was just as bad. Now, let's go into the dress shop like nice normal people and get you measured for robes while Madame Malkin fusses and I stand around like a long-suffering husband. And then we can get ice cream before heading back into London proper and getting you something to wear under your robes. Deal?"

"Yeah, okay," Draco says, obviously still reluctant to go in, but acceding to Harry's point nonetheless. Harry doesn't give him a chance to change his mind- just drags him in through the door and smiling at Madame Malkin when she flushes with pleasure at "having the prestigious Harry Potter in her humble shop."

And then she spots Draco, standing half behind Harry and doing his best to pretend that he isn't really there, and that was all she wrote.

Harry spends the next half hour or so leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, trying not to grin as he watches the portly woman fluttering around the stool that Draco is standing on, measuring tapes busy in the air. The glare that Draco sends him tells him that he isn't entirely successful, and that Draco is planning retribution.

He can't wait.

All measurements finally done, Draco hops down off the stool and takes his turn against the wall while Harry talks to Madame Malkin, discussing styles and colors and amounts. Finally, Harry pays her a sum that was exorbitant enough to tell Draco that he just had an entire new wardrobe, purchased and arranged to have them delivered to his home the next day.

Draco glares at him again as they make their way out of the shop and back into the bustle of Diagon Alley. "You know, it's odd," he says conversationally. "I remember you saying something about buying me 'a couple' robes. Not a whole closet's full."

"I lied," Harry says without a qualm. "Which I do, sometimes." He glances over at Draco, his eyes full of mischief. "Gonna punish me?"

Draco inhales sharply as several images assail his brain all at once, and Harry pauses, staring at him, all mischief gone from his eyes. In their place is a heat and determination that tells Draco that they will be sharing the bed again tonight, but it won't be for the platonic snuggling that have occurred the two nights before. Draco shivers at the thought, and Harry's expression becomes, if anything, more intent.

He is just about to suggest that they forgo the ice cream and Muggle clothes in favor of going home- funny how fast Harry's place has become "home"- and shagging, when he hears a voice a few feet away saying, "Didn't expect to see you here, Harry."

They both turn to see Ron standing there with Hermione. Both witch and wizard look unhappy, and Draco has to fight the urge to slink back till he is hidden behind Harry. Harry, perhaps sensing this urge, throws an arm around his shoulders in what probably looks like a friendly gesture to the general public, but is much more intimate that that. "You probably heard that I accepted the position," Harry says, sounding just as casual as he did the morning before, at the breakfast table, but Draco has no trouble interpreting the tension in the lean body next to his. "You can't expect the Great Harry Potter to become the Defense Against Dark Arts teacher at the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without being properly attired for the position, can you?"

"Harry, remember that I've seen your closet," Hermione says. "You have more clothes than you need already."

"Well, I didn't say that I was shopping for myself, now, did I?" Harry points out. "I just implied it."

"So who are you shopping for?" Ron demands, in what Draco can only classify as a seriously idiotic question, considering the circumstances. Then again, he has always known that Ron was not the bright one in the Weasley-Granger relationship.

"Draco, of course," Harry says. "We were just about to stop for ice cream. Would you like to join us?" His smile as he asks the question is razor-edged.

"Er, well¼" Ron hedges, just as Harry expected him to. Draco has noticed that, amongst all the other changes Harry has gone through, he has also developed an almost uncanny sense of how people are going to react. It gives him an edge that allows him to manipulate the people around him like a puppeteer with a marionette. He has been doing it to Draco from the moment they locked eyes in the bar, but Draco can't find it in him to be upset about that, considering the results.

Hermione, as always, is several steps ahead of her husband. "Harry," she says hesitantly, glancing over at Draco. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"No," he says bluntly. "You're just going to tell me that I'm making a mistake and really, won't I just stop and think a minute because of course then I'll reconsider." Harry shakes his head after finishing his really quite accurate mimicry of Hermione's voice. "And since I'm not making a mistake and I won't reconsider, there's no point in it, is there? This is what I want."

"But-" Ron says.

"You've been telling me for over a year now that you only want what's best for me, Hermione. And you, Ron, have been telling me for almost as long that you want me to have whatever it is that I really want, because hey, I deserve it, right?" Harry is almost as good at doing Ron's voice as he is at doing Hermione's. "Well, this is what's best for me. This is what I want. He is what I want. So lay off, yeah?" He punctuates this by pulling Draco a little closer to his side and glaring at the couple.

"We just-"

"Herm. I'm taking the job that, in your own words, is just what I need. And I wouldn't have taken it if Draco hadn't talked me into it. I'm taking the job, and that is as much as you are allowed to ask me. You have officially fulfilled your favor quota for the next year at least."

"We don't-"

"Year," Harry says firmly. "Possibly more."

"It didn't used to be like this," Ron bursts out. "It didn't used to be about favors or whatnot. We're supposed to be friends, Harry."

"Yeah, and you used to be less of a prat," Harry says. "It stopped being friendship and started being about favors when you two started buying into the hype about me. Maybe we can get back to the friends bit if you two think things over and decide to pull your heads out of your asses."

"You're running around with Malfoy," Ron snarls. "Seems you're the one with your head up your ass."

"Which just goes to show what you know," Harry says. "My head isn't up my ass. Of course, if you hadn't interrupted, I was working my way towards having something else up there."

And, having dropped this bombshell on his disbelieving friends, he steers Draco around and walks away, ignoring the two gaped-jawed people he's left behind.

Draco manages to keep himself from laughing until they've made their way out through The Leaky Cauldron and are back into London proper. Then he gives it up and just whoops, bending over slightly as he clutches his stomach to ward off cramps. "I can't believe you actually said that," he says, once his laughter has died down enough to allow him to speak. "Fuck, did you see their faces! Priceless."

Harry isleaning against a wall, watching him with a smile. "Was a bit funny," he admits. "Though I was doing it just to get them off my back. Far too much experience has taught me that only complete and total shock can make those two back off when they've got the bit between their teeth."

Draco sobers immediately. "Look, I don't want to be driving a wedge between you and your friends¼"

"You aren't," Harry says bluntly. "Those two probably like to think that you are, but you aren't. It's been like this for a while now. All you're doing is bringing it to the surface." Harry shrugs. "If we're lucky, then maybe we can even work through some of it. If not, then I've lost a pair of great friends, but at least it's no worse than pretending everything's fine when it's not."

Draco thinks about this for several minutes, and eventually concludes that Harry is right. "I still don't like the thought of being the cause of it all," he says. "Even if it is, as you say, for the best."

"You aren't," Harry says. "The cause, I mean. They've just been looking for an excuse and frankly, so have I." He shrugs at Draco's look. "I never said I was the better man. Well, person. Hermione's no man."

Draco shakes his head. "No, she isn't." Pause. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Isn't your fault, and even if it was it's still better this way." Harry grins at him, hot and reckless. "Now. Weren't we on our way home?"

Draco can't help but grin back at him. "Well, I'm pretty sure that we were going to get ice cream and then shop for Muggle clothes, but now that you mention it¼"

"Home sounds good," Harry finishes for him. As if by magic- and Draco can't stop himself from laughing to himself at the thought, because, really- Sterling pulls up at that moment in the car, and the two of them get into the backseat, Draco first. Harry slides in after him, and keeps sliding until he is pressed right up against Draco's side, shoulders and hands and thighs brushing together. Draco can't help but melt a little, and the look that Harry gives him tells him that the other man knows it damn well. Draco leans over and, surprised at his own daring, gently bites Harry's earlobe in retaliation. Harry sucks in a surprised breath and lets it out slowly, his hand clenching and releasing on Draco's thigh. He blows gently across Draco's neck, causing him to shiver in response and press closer to Harry.

Both of them are wound far too tightly, and this has been between them, waiting for the right moment, since the two of them locked eyes in the bar the night before.

Home definitely sounds good.