Draco doesn't see Harry much over the next week. Harry's workload is heavier now with the new title, and consequently, they're taking lunch together and not much else. By the weekend, both are more than ready for a break together, and Harry suggests that it's time Draco sees his place.

"It's better than I expected, although I suppose I should have adjusted such expectations by now," Draco says, taking in the modern, sophisticated feel of the place. "I mean, you don't dress the way you did before. Why would you decorate poorly?"

"I can't tell if that's entirely a compliment, but if it is, thanks," Harry says, grinning. "Ron lived here, too, but not for long, thankfully. He's a horrible slob."

"And O'Leary? Was he here, too?"

Harry shakes his head. "Only on the occasional long weekend. That relationship, it was mostly long distance, what with the Quidditch and all."

Draco nods. "Are we meeting your—or, I suppose, our friends tonight?"

"You'll get used to them being yours, too, I promise," says Harry, looping an arm around Draco's waist and guiding him toward the couch. "And no. I thought it might be nice if it were just the two of us this time."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Potter?" Draco asks as they sit down together, thighs and calves pressed together.

Harry laughs. "Did you just paraphrase a Muggle film?"

"The Graduate is a classic, Harry," says Draco. "And he'd never want you to know this, but my father ... My father is quite fond of Muggle entertainment, particularly Muggle entertainment that was popular when he was young."

"I'll never hold it over his head." Harry pauses. "Not that I expect to meet him anytime soon."

"It doesn't bother you, does it? That my father's all but exiled himself? Well, not all but. He's exiled himself. And you're not going to meet him as my boyfriend for the time being."

"I'd have more of a problem with it if he were avoiding me for other reasons," says Harry. "It's more to do with his safety than anything else, right? I can't really object to that in good conscience."

"I wish I'd realized you'd be like this sooner," Draco says, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezing his shoulder lightly.

"Like what?"

"Understanding. Forgiving. The kind of person I should be with. Deserve to be with."

"I knew you were that, you know," Harry says softly, taking Draco's free hand in both of his and stroking his thumbs over each of Draco's fingers in turn. "I wish I'd had the balls to say something."

"This kind of thing can take a while. You'll notice I didn't do anything either. Also, damn, you're good at whatever it is you're doing."

"Hand massaging," says Harry. "Lost art, I think. We put too much emphasis on the feet, and all we do is walk on those. Your hands are responsible for so much. They deserve some coddling, too."

"And who better to coddle mine than you?"

"Play your cards right and I'll do your other hand later." Harry pauses. "You understand idioms, don't you?"

"That one? Playing cards? Of course. Father's penchant for Muggle entertainment certainly had its uses."

"Did your father ever show you Die Hard?" Harry asks. "It's ... Well, I was going to say it's really good, but I'm not quite sure that it is. It's a lot of fun, and there are lots of explosions, and the villain's very weirdly sexy. I think I've seen it at least ten times. It's one of the only Muggle films Ron will abide. Hermione hates it."

"It sounds great," says Draco, meaning it. "So, we order in, we watch a film, we get just a little bit closer to shagging before we both start fumbling for our pants and decide the timing's not quite right?"

Harry laughs. "I like the sound of all of that. I can't promise I won't also involve ice cream, though. The best film-watching experiences, I've found, heavily feature ice cream."

"I can agree to that," Draco says. "Do you have your mobile handy?"

Before long, they're eating Chinese food—Harry likes it spicy, Draco notes—and Draco's picking apart Die Hard in the most affectionate way possible. He's delighted to realize that Harry thinks he's funny and not irritating, and when Harry unexpectedly pauses the film to indulge in a lengthy snogging session, Draco's all too ready to participate. After Die Hard draws to a close and Draco and Harry agree that Hans Gruber got a raw deal, Draco finds his eyelids getting heavy. He's been half lying down through the whole film, and now he drapes himself over Harry, ready for sleep.

"I'm sorry I'm not making more of an effort to ravish you, Potter," he says into Harry's chest, which shakes slightly as Harry laughs. "I'm just this side of exhausted. Did you want to sleep in your bed, or are you alright with this?"

"Can I take off my trousers?"

"Not sure what that has to do with anything, but by all means." Draco hears himself make a whining noise as Harry gently pushes him off and stands up, making quick work of his trousers and socks. Harry lies back down on the couch and holds out his arms, neatly folding Draco in them.

"I like sleeping on the couch once in a while," says Harry. "I especially like it now that I can hold you while doing so."

"Surely I'm not the first man to be honored with this treatment."

"You are. I hope you cherish that."

"Always," Draco says. "I'm going to kiss you now, alright? That's all you're getting right now, I'm afraid."

"I'll take what I can get."

It's some of the best sleep Draco's had in ages. When he wakes up, it's to the smell of sausage drifting from what is most likely the kitchen. Draco realizes he hasn't had a proper tour of the place, and so he walks into the kitchen, where Harry's standing at the stove, clad only in the boxers he wore to bed. Or couch, in this case. Draco comes up behind him and encircles Harry's waist with his arms.

"You've got a nice back, Potter," Draco says, pressing a kiss to Harry's collarbone.

"Nicer now that you're against it," says Harry, and Draco can practically hear him smiling. "Breakfast should be ready soon."

"Do you mind if I look around the house?" Draco asks. "Never got a chance yesterday."

"Yeah, that's fine," says Harry, spinning in his arms and brushing a kiss across Draco's lips. He tastes like Earl Grey and honey and Harry, just Harry, and Draco can't remember the last time he's felt this sort of contentment. Has he ever? "Just don't go digging through the drawers. I might have, I don't know, a clipping of you from the Prophet with hearts drawn all over."

Draco smirks. "Sure you might. I'll make sure to search every drawer." He kisses Harry again before leaving the kitchen and ascending the stairs. From what he can see, there's one huge bathroom, an equivalently huge bedroom, and another bedroom, slightly smaller with a decently sized bed. The bed in what must be Harry's room, Draco is happy to note, is roomy enough for two, no matter how active they may be. He smiles as he takes in how Harry's decorated the bedroom—photos of friends and colleagues, Draco included, adorn the wall, and a gilded Hogwarts crest hangs above the armoire. There's a cat bed, he notices, though he hasn't seen a cat.

"You have a cat?" he shouts in the general direction of the stairs.

"What?" Harry yells back.

"Nothing," Draco calls down. There's a cage on the window seat, no owl inside until quite suddenly, a sweetheart owl wings its way in. The owl heads straight for Draco's forearm and lands softly, giving his finger a nip.

"Well, hello," he says to the owl. "Do you need me to give this to Harry?"

The owl cocks its head and extends its leg. Draco takes the letter and looks around the room, seeing where treats may be hidden. When he's not immediately successful, he promises he'll be back with something later, and the owl seems to nod as it enters its cage. Draco looks at the envelope. It's red with gold lettering and reads simply "GIT."

"Someone's not very fond of you, are they?" Draco asks Harry, who's seated at the table in front of one of two full plates. He hands Harry the letter.

"I don't recognize the writing, not that I really could from three letters," says Harry, brow furrowed. He attempts to open the envelope and fails, dropping the letter as though he's been burned. "That's odd. It won't open for me, and it nearly singed my hand when I tried. Do you think you could have a go?"

"You trust me with your mail, then?" Draco neatly slides the envelope open with his fingernail and shakes out the letter. It's the same red and gold as the outside, and the parchment stands itself up in front of Draco.

"'You'll never be good enough for him,'" Draco reads with a frown. "Delayed reaction to the Prophet story, do you think?"

He doesn't hear Harry's answer as the letter abruptly slices in half in front of him, and the jagged edge of one side cuts cleanly through Draco's shirt and into his scar from the Sectumsempra so long ago.