Author's Notes: I wrote this for alisanne in the 2012 H/D Holidays fest on LJ. She requested UST, banter, plot, magical theory, friendships and family, kissing, and a surprise guest. Actually there's more, but it would be spoilery to mention anything else now. Enjoy! :)

Thanks to Birdsofshore for prereading, typo squishing and cheerleading, and thanks to Evilgiraffe82 for a speedy and thorough beta job. Any remaining mistakes are all my own.

This originally posted as one 40k one-shot, but I'm reposting it here in chapters to make it a bit easier to read - most chapters take place over a day, so some are longer/shorter than others. I will post the chapters as quickly as I can - there are twelve in all, including the epilogue.

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter One - Third Time's the Charm

"What were you thinking?" Hermione asked, giving Harry an exasperated look. "You've got a broken femur and two – no, three – broken ribs. And a significant amount of bruising." A small diagnostic light, the same green as her Healer robes, hovered for a moment more, then sped back to her wand.

"It was an accident," Harry said, wincing as he shifted his weight to sit up a little.

"A large part of your kitchen floor falling away was an accident?" she said, fixing him with a sceptical look as she cast a couple of Episkeys. The question distracted Harry a little from the pain as his bones knitted back together.

"Yes! No... I don't know," said Harry. He gave an experimental stretch, and there was still a dull ache, but it was nothing like it had been before. "To be honest... I think that my house is trying to kill me."

"Oh yes?" Hermione gave him a flat stare. She unstoppered a vial and handed it to him: judging by what seemed to be the word 'pain' in the handwritten scrawl on the label, it looked like some kind of pain-relieving potion.

"You could have given this to me first," he said.

"I didn't want to get a false reading," Hermione said, making a brief note on his chart. "Now, the house?"

"Well... this isn't exactly the first time something like this has happened," Harry said. "A few weeks ago, one of the house-elf heads in the hallway slipped free and er... fell on me."

"Harry!"

"Oh, it missed me, actually. It turns out all those hours in Auror training dodging hexes come in handy when a dried up old house-elf head falls off the wall."

"I don't see how you can joke about this," Hermione said, and she frowned. "Or how this has led to the conclusion that your house is trying to kill you. I'd be more inclined to suggest that you've just let Grimmauld Place get into such a state that it is literally falling apart."

"I haven't!" said Harry. "I think the house is cursed, actually." Hermione's eyes widened but then closed, a flash of resigned irritation passing across her face as the band at her wrist flashed blue and vibrated for a few seconds.

"Look, I've got to go, but this conversation isn't over. You stay right here until my shift is over, then I'm taking you home with me. Ok?" Harry nodded, knowing that there was no arguing with her. "I should be done in about an hour, and when I come back I expect to find you still here," she said, before marching off, all flapping robes and purposefulness. Harry settled down to wait, wishing that he'd been able to finish his cup of tea before the floor had collapsed: he could do with a bit of comfort, now.

St Mungo's was busy, as was to be expected on a Friday evening. As he watched people walk in with a range of injuries and ailments, Harry reflected that he really had got off lightly: his fall could have been much worse.

He was lost in thought, wondering just how it was that more people weren't injured thanks to magic and all the hazards that came with it, when Hermione returned, looking weary, her head haloed by the hair escaping her tight bun.

"You are coming home with me. No arguments," she said, and Harry nodded mutely and rose to join her as she wove back through patients and Healers, until they were outside the hospital and heading for the nearest Apparition point.

Ten minutes later and they had joined Ron under the slowly darkening sky of a late-summer's evening, one of Molly's stews reheated and steaming on the table next to them, and a beer each in hand. Hermione had cast one of her warming charms against the hint of chill in the air, and they were sat outside the small caravan that was currently Ron and Hermione's home, surveying the building site that would one day be their new house. The sound of gentle waves lapping at the lakeshore could just be heard in the background.

"Spill the beans, Harry," Hermione said. "I want the whole story."

"Yes, what have I missed?" asked Ron. "And what are you doing here on a week night, Harry?"

"Harry was at St Mungo's with a broken leg today," Hermione said, before Harry could say anything. "Apparently he's having some trouble with his house." She took a long sip of her beer, and Harry sighed. Ron looked between the two of them before tucking into his food.

"I have had one or two issues with number twelve, recently," Harry said.

"Issues?" asked Ron, mid-chew. "What, like mould? Or, er," he paused, glancing over at Hermione, "house-elf problems?"

"No, not mould. Although actually, there is a bit of that too. And not Kreacher either, he's been most helpful. Still refuses clothes," Harry added. "I had a small... accident, with one of those house-elf heads in the hallway."

"An accident?" asked Ron. "What were you doing to have an accident with one?"

"Nothing at all! One of them fell down, that's all," Harry said. "Nearly flattened me, too. But I'm fine, obviously."

"I'm glad you're okay, mate, but I can't understand why you haven't got rid of them yet," Ron said, grimacing slightly as he shook his head. "They are seriously creepy. In fact, I can't understand how you can stand living in that gloomy old house, whether it's trying to kill you or not."

It was a conversation they'd had before. While his friends were busy planning their future, Harry was happy just to live day to day; he hadn't done anything to his house, despite living there for a few years now. Hermione had told him, more than once, that he had commitment issues, but he just wanted to not have to worry about arrangements and fussing. He was tired of defending the way he lived: not everyone could be like Ron and Hermione, all driven and building fantastic careers or saving the world. He'd done the saving thing already, and he just wanted a break. A quiet life.

There was no avoiding this conversation now though, but Harry sighed before continuing.

"Kreacher says I need to check everything over for curses," Harry said, choosing to ignore Ron's comments. "I'm not making excuses, I think I need to get a Curse-Breaker in. My er, my bed collapsed a while back too: pillars, canopy, it all ripped and tore apart." The softest of summer breezes, brushed over them, cool and warm all at the same time, and Harry decided to tell them the truth. "I was in it at the time."

Ron put down his beer.

"Blimey, Harry, were you okay?" He shifted uncomfortably. "And, er, I don't think I want to know what you were doing to break it."

"Harry! Why didn't you tell us at the time? Were you injured at all?" Hermione said at the same time. She gave Ron a brief disapproving look.

"It wasn't important," Harry said. "And I wasn't doing anything. Just sleeping – by myself," he said, glaring at Ron. Harry turned back to Hermione. "No real injuries, thankfully: just some splinters. Which were a bit... embarrassing," he added. He shifted in his seat at the memory of a backside full of them, and Ron's eyes widened.

"That's what that was! You winced every time you sat down for a week. I thought you'd been... you know," he said, making a suggestive gesture with his hands. Harry scowled as Ron threw back his head and laughed, until Hermione poked him in the side.

"Hey," said Harry. "It's not funny—" he stopped as he realised what Ron was saying. "Wait, you spent a whole week thinking that I'd been—"

"What else was I supposed to think? Although I couldn't work out why you weren't in a better mood. I should have known better than to think you'd actually got laid."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He really didn't find it funny: falling apart was the most action that bed had seen in a long time. He hadn't had much more than a quick fumble over the past year or two, not since his forced outing in the Prophet. 'HARRY POTTER, GAY!', had been quite the headline to read one morning after. And a pretty swift end to what Harry had hoped might be a new relationship.

It hadn't been exactly how Harry would have chosen to come out, but once it was done, it was done. Harry still winced though, at the memory of Molly's face the next time he'd seen her: she'd been so uncomfortable, she hadn't been able to meet his eye. At least she'd stopped asking about when he was going to get back together with Ginny.

Harry sighed and pushed his stew around with his fork. He speared a round of carrot. "I think it's cursed," he said. He ate his carrot, and it was tender and tasty. "The house that is. The house-elf head, my bed... and then today, while I was having a cup of tea in the kitchen, the floor under the table fell straight through to the cellar." Ron's eyes widened at this latest revelation.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, and it was only when you'd actually broken some bones that you told us any of this."

"Well, you know... I've been busy," said Harry, aware of just how weak that excuse was beginning to sound. Especially when he was saying it to two people who were building their dream house in their spare time.

"So what are you going to do about your house, then?" Ron asked. Harry frowned and shoved a large forkful of stew in his mouth to avoid having to answer for a second. It really was very good.

"Well, Kreacher told me that there were still probably some curses left on things in the house," Harry said, "I– well I was going to find a Curse-Breaker, but..." he trailed off.

"You added it to your list of things to do for the house, and then you promptly forgot all about it, right?" Hermione said, and Harry shrugged.

"If you really do want to get a Curse-Breaker," Ron said, and Harry could hear a certain lack of faith behind his friend's words, "I hope you realise who the best one around is." Ron was giving him an almost pitying look. Harry shook his head, confused.

"I'll owl Bill when I've got time," he said.

"No, mate, not Bill." Ron paused before continuing, shaking his head slightly. "Malfoy," he said, sitting back with a kind of smug satisfaction. Harry looked at his friend with a rising sense of despair.

"No—" he started, but then he remembered that Malfoy's name did pop up at work from time to time. He knew that some of the other Aurors had worked with him, but all that he could remember were the remarks a few had made about Malfoy being a bit of an arse, which merely confirmed what Harry had long believed.

"Yeah, sorry, mate, but I reckon he's your best bet."

"Oh really, Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes widened. "How interesting. I wonder," she said, her face becoming hidden from view as she bent down to her plate again, "what else will have to break before you call him in?"

"The floor falling out from beneath me was enough, believe me," Harry said. "I was lucky that Kreacher was around to take me to St Mungo's: my wand landed halfway across the room." Kreacher had been in such a state that Harry had almost immediately sent him to Hogwarts, not wanting to have him fussing loudly in a public waiting room.

"Well, you can stay here for a while if you want. Until your house is a bit safer," Hermione said, as if inviting him to share the airy house being built below, not the cramped caravan behind them. She followed his gaze as he twisted in his chair. "It is a bit bigger on the inside, you know," she said. "I did a fair bit of research on wizarding space when we were planning the house. We've got a sofa bed: stay tonight, and see how you find it." Harry nodded, and finished off his stew while Hermione and Ron talked a little. They sat out long after the sun had gone down, drinking beer under the stars.

o~O~o

Harry actually hadn't thought about Malfoy for years, and had no idea where or how to get hold of him. In the end he asked Ernie Macmillan, who was the last person at work – other than Ron – to have mentioned him.

"Are you sure?" Ernie said. "He is a bit of a prick, you know."

"So I've heard. But then I've also heard that he's the best Curse Breaker around."

"Oh, he definitely is. Do you remember the Mornay case last year?" Ernie asked, and Harry nodded. Old Eliza Mornay had been dismissed at first as a bit crazy, but it had soon transpired that her Floo had been cursed, and anyone who passed through it found that some part of their body had become a little more fish-like. Finding your skin covered with scales was one thing, but sprouting gills was something else. Harry had seen the first set of Aurors sent to investigate, and it hadn't been a pretty sight.

"That was Malfoy who broke the fish curse?" Harry said. He'd missed the end of the case as he'd been ankle-deep in mud in Norfolk at the time, tracking a small sect of Necromancers.

"Yep, and he was the third person they brought in. The first two were useless in comparison – one of them ended up in St Mungo's himself. Anyway, Malfoy had it sorted within a day." Harry felt hope rise at Ernie's words. Even if Malfoy was unbearable, it sounded like he was efficient enough for their contact to be limited.

The reply to his owl came while Harry was wrapping up a case report. He pushed aside the forms with relief, and opened his note from Malfoy. As he read the flowing script he frowned: Malfoy would take the job and could start the next day, but he wanted full access to Grimmauld Place and for Harry to be there too, at least for the first day or two. As it was a Tuesday, this meant that either Harry took some time off, or waited until the weekend.

His back ached, a sharp pain across one side, as he thought of the sofa bed at Ron and Hermione's; Harry rose to find Robards and arrange a few days' leave.