Title: Fair Courtesy

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Seamus/Dean

Warnings: A bit of angst, lots of fluff, Hogwarts eighth year

Rating: R

Wordcount: 3600

Summary: This is what happens when you destroy one of the "eighth-year dorm" beds with a fire curse and are therefore left with one less than you should have.

Author's Notes: An Advent fic written for geinahop, who gave me the prompt of H/D, eighth year, forced bed-sharing. Happy Advent!

Fair Courtesy

"Ignis!"

The spell should have hit the Shield Charm that Seamus had up, everyone agreed later. That meant that Harry didn't have to feel as bad about what happened, and no one could blame him. That was the important part.

The second most important part was that Seamus danced to one side like an idiot instead of raising a Shield Charm-when he had said that he wanted to learn dueling from Harry-and the spell hit Harry's bed instead. Of course it would be Harry's bed. And of course Harry would be putting most of the power of his magic behind the spell, because Seamus had taunted him that he spared his partners too much and that was the only reason Neville had learned dueling, and Harry would put up with a lot of insults to himself but he wouldn't tolerate one to Neville.

The bed burst into flames immediately. Some more flames climbed the hangings to the top of the canopy. Harry thought he saw them capering gleefully for a moment, like the beasts in Fiendfyre, but that was impossible; he had used an ordinary spell. Still, since the war, he sometimes didn't know his own strength.

"Men," said Hermione in disgust from behind Harry, and a spray of water aimed past Harry's shoulder neatly hit the bed and drowned the flames to smoke and tatters. Harry winced a little. Yes, he supposed one of them could have done that, instead of standing there gaping and watching the bed burn.

He turned to face Hermione, whose fingers were rapping on her hip as she glanced from face to face. "Who did this?"

"I did," said Harry glumly, at the same moment as Seamus said earnestly, "I tempted him to put all his power behind the spell. I'm sorry!"

Harry glared for a second at Seamus, then relaxed and rolled his eyes. Seamus hadn't meant that much by it. He had just implied that Harry was hesitant to use his magic against someone else because of the way the power seemed to have increased once Voldemort's Horcrux was gone and he no longer had to dedicate so many of the resources of his mind and magic (unknowingly) to keeping it from overpowering him. And, well, that was true. Harry didn't want to use all of his magic.

The trouble was, now he had no place to sleep.

"Maybe the house-elves will bring another one," Hermione said. "Or the castle will conjure one." She had a point, and Harry nodded hopefully. Since the number of returning eighth-years was so small, and mostly Gryffindors, McGonagall had assigned them to a single dorm on the fifth floor, and they had arrived to find the right number of beds decorated in the right colors.

They waited. No bed appeared.

Hermione sighed. "Or maybe the castle knows how many beds were supposed to be here, and just because one got destroyed is no reason to make a new one."

Harry made a face and looked around at his friends for a second. Ron's ears turned red, but he shook his head, along with Seamus. Harry knew why. With Ron dating Hermione and Seamus dating Dean, there was no way that either of them was going to let Harry share his bed, in case it was already...occupied. He could ask Neville, Harry thought, but he still felt a little guilty about not being here last year to help fight the Death Eaters, and Neville had a lot of calls on his time; his grandmother was now sick and unable to take care of herself, but had insisted that Neville finish his education. So Neville was almost continually Flooing back and forth between home and Hogwarts. He had enough burdens.

"It isn't that hard to Transfigure pillows and blankets from the curtains," Harry pointed out, and began to pull down the ugly maroon curtains over the window that no one had liked anyway.

Hermione gave a sigh long enough to wither flowers, and stomped out of the room, back to the girls'. Harry didn't blame her. At least Seamus was shamefaced enough to help Harry with the Transfiguration.

"What in the world is Potter doing on the floor?"

Harry cracked open one eye. He had almost been asleep, and then of course Malfoy had to come walking into the room and make his remark loud enough to wake people on several continents. Harry rolled over on the thick pile of former curtains and stared at Malfoy.

"Sleeping," he said, and rolled back the other way.

"What happened to the bed?"

Harry gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. Malfoy had come back to Hogwarts quiet, pale, with his father in Azkaban and no longer a threat that he could use like a club on people, and his mother spending most of her time there with Lucius even though she hadn't been imprisoned. He had been so quiet that Harry had got alarmed and spent some time with Malfoy, cheering him up, reassuring him that no one blamed him as much as the adult Death Eaters, or even some of the other Slytherin students who had more enthusiastically hunted and tortured Gryffindors last year. Neville had told Harry privately that the word most likely to apply to Malfoy's torture was "ineffective."

And Malfoy had taken that to heart. So much so, that he was now back to his strutting, sneering, gitty self.

"I accidentally hit it with a fire spell," Harry began.

"Yeah, that's right," Dean said, popping his head around the curtains of Seamus's bed. Malfoy didn't look shocked. No one much cared who slept in which bed, and the eighth-year students kept their secrets outside the dorm. "He accidentally hit it with a fire spell when he was dueling Seamus, and no one else wanted to share their beds, so he's sleeping on the floor, so now both of you know the story, so will you shut up already?"

A large hand darted out of the bed-curtains and hauled Dean back inside. Harry heard the laughter, and gritted his teeth. Jealousy was unworthy of someone who had more media attention than he knew what to do with, but it was their laughter and their contentment Harry was jealous of. Ginny had made it clear that he was mistaken to ask that of her.

"And you never thought of asking the house-elves for a bed?" Malfoy demanded.

"I tried that," Harry hissed back, in a whisper as much as he could, since there were now disturbing noises coming from Ron and Hermione's bed. "They said that they couldn't put any extra beds in this room, that it already had the right number."

"But it doesn't."

"Maybe house-elves can't count," Harry snapped back, and then hoped that Hermione wasn't listening, or he was going to pay for that remark in the morning. "I don't know. I Transfigured some curtains. Get out of here, Malfoy. I'm trying to sleep." He raised some Privacy Charms around the pile of curtains for good measure.

Malfoy sniffed and muttered something else, but he stomped off to bed at last. Harry tried not to eye the four-poster in envy, and finally decided the only way to prevent that from happening was by closing his eyes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter?"

Harry glared at Malfoy. No matter how much his back hurt at the moment, that was a pastime he always had the ability to pursue. "None of your bloody business," he muttered, and cast a Lightening Charm on his satchel, loaded down with books as it was.

Malfoy came up to walk beside him, eyeing the satchel with a kind of wary mistrust that made Harry want to laugh. And he would have, if he was so busy trying not to groan. The Lightening Charm hadn't been enough; the satchel came to rest right on the sore spot in the middle of his back, and Harry hissed and closed his eyes.

"Your back hurts," Malfoy said.

"Brilliant observation, genius," Harry muttered, and left the Potions classroom. He had been the last one-well, other than Malfoy, Master of the Obvious-to linger. Ron and Hermione were crawling all over each other at every opportunity, and had hurried off early to do it some more. Most of the other students in the class didn't have a reason to wait for Harry.

Come to that, neither did Malfoy. Harry turned to him in the middle of the corridor. He had found that the best solution to the Malfoy Problem, as he called it, was to be forthright. "What do you care anyway, Malfoy?"

"I couldn't sleep last night," Malfoy said, giving him a penetrating look.

"The curtains won't make you sleep any better," Harry said, thinking he understood now. Malfoy had probably been cold without curtains across the window next to his bed and was about to complain that he couldn't cast a Warming Charm, either. "But we could always switch the bed and the curtains if you wanted to try them."

Malfoy's sneer lifted his lip enough to expose a set of teeth that Harry had to admit were impressive. "Imbecile. I was kept awake by your moans of pain."

"Ha-ha," Harry said shortly, and tried to force his way past him. Malfoy grabbed his arm. Harry ignored the tingle of warmth that shot up it. That had always been happening near the beginning of the year, back when he had thought Malfoy might actually need reassurance. It was the stupid way his body reacted to being touched, and nothing more. "Cast a Silencing Charm," Harry said, right into Malfoy's face.

"Share my bed," Malfoy murmured.

Harry paused and eyed him suspiciously. "Wouldn't that get in the way of your own nocturnal visitors?"

Malfoy laughed. "I'm amazed you haven't noticed, Potter, but I suppose that you were blinded by the shameless exploits of Weasley and Granger. I have no lover." His voice had an odd, blank tone as he spoke. "That's the reason that I can offer you an unoccupied space."

He was staring at Harry now as if expecting another objection. Harry cocked his head. He wouldn't even be considering this, but his back really hurt. Not even Cushioning Charms applied to the curtains could make the floor of the dorm any softer.

Besides, he wanted to see the expression on Malfoy's face when he took him up on it.

"Fine," Harry said, leaning near enough that his breath stirred Malfoy's fine eyelashes. "I will sleep with you tonight."

Malfoy offered him a little smile and a nod. "I'm trying to be courteous," he said. "It's nice that you're finally recognizing it." And he turned and walked away, leaving Harry staring after him, sure that he'd missed something, but without a single idea about what it could be.

Ron walked out of the bathroom and shut his eyes, pressing his hands in front of them as though that could shut out the awful sight. "Harry, what are you doing in Malfoy's bed?" he wailed. "It better not be any of the things I'm thinking of you doing."

Harry, who was struggling through the book assigned for NEWT Transfiguration, as usual, looked up for a second. "I doubt it," he said. "You must have a better imagination than I do by now, thanks to Hermione."

Ron's ears turned red again. "But what are you doing?"

"Malfoy complained my groans kept him awake." Harry rolled his eyes. He had no fear of Malfoy overhearing. The git was currently in the shower, which meant he would be another thirty minutes, at least. "So he offered to let me share his bed. All in the name of a comfortable night's sleep, of course." Plus some other game that I haven't figured out yet. But Harry would figure it out. He was sure of that.

"Right," said Ron, who was staring at him in horrified fascination. "You're sure that you won't be doing any of the things I'm thinking of?"

Harry struck what he hoped was a seductive pose against the pillows. "I don't know," he said, lowering his voice in a sultry fashion. "Why don't you come over here, and we can find out?"

"Stop it," Ron said, and clapped his hands over his ears, and ran to the safety of his own bed. Harry chuckled. He considered that more than enough revenge for all the times that he'd thought Ron was alone at night, and turned out not to be.

"I hope that's for me."

Harry turned and gaped. Malfoy was actually out of the shower, walking towards Harry with his damp hair hanging around his shoulders. He wore a pale bathrobe. Harry swallowed a little and tried not to stare at the thick white fur it was made of, imagining how soft it would feel. Softer even than the pillows against his back, he thought. "What's for you?" he asked.

"The way you look." Malfoy climbed into his bed on the side nearer the bathroom and stretched and yawned for a second. The stretching brushed his hand against Harry's flank. Harry jumped away as though Malfoy's sleeve was on fire.

"I'm not trying to seduce anyone," Harry snapped. "I just-I was just teasing Ron. And why are you touching me? You promised no touching!"

"I don't think I made that promise, actually," Malfoy said, and turned on his side, so that he was facing Harry. His eyes fluttered closed. "I just said that I didn't have a lover. Turn off your Lumos Charm, it's distracting."

Glaring, Harry flung down his book on the table beside the bed and canceled the little charm on his wand, curling up huffily. At the moment, he was debating about the necessity of going back to his curtain-pile. The bed was certainly more comfortable, but he wondered about his ability to go to sleep, he was so aggravated.

Then he felt warmth close behind him. Harry would have leaped away, but he was on the edge of the bed as it was.

The warmth edged closer. Harry glared at the ceiling again and decided that if he held himself stiff, Malfoy might realize the contact was unwelcome.

An arm looped around his shoulders. A face rested against the back of his neck. Another arm encircled his waist, and Malfoy sighed happily and went to sleep. Harry had no doubt of that, from the puffs of breath against his nape.

He wondered how long he could keep from hexing Malfoy. Certainly he wouldn't be able to fall asleep with him breathing that way.

But...

Malfoy had sounded so happy right before he went to sleep. And the warmth was nicer than Harry had imagined. He had never slept this close to anyone, except Hermione during the Horcrux hunt, and she hadn't been nearly as warm.

Harry's eyes slipped shut. He reckoned that it couldn't do any harm to close them, as long as he was suitably righteous and indignant in the morning.

And then it couldn't be any harm to yawn, and then it couldn't be any to snuggle backwards, and then it couldn't be any to enjoy the tight enfolding of the arms around him, just a little. It wasn't as though Malfoy ever had to know.

Sometime between plotting revenge and making up sarcastic speeches to Malfoy in his head, Harry slipped off to sleep.

He awakened with warm arms wrapped around him, and a tongue in his ear.

Harry rolled over and stared at Malfoy. He had thought there was a chance that the prat wasn't awake, because if there was anyone who could manage to piss Harry off in his sleep, it was Malfoy.

But no, he was awake, and his eyes were gleaming with a sharpness that rivaled the frost on the windows. He leaned forwards and whispered, "I overheard most of your conversation with Weasley yesterday. He might be able to imagine more than you can, but if you'll let me, I can repair that deficiency in your education."

Harry stared at Malfoy some more. It was incredible that they were both here, and cuddled up like this.

But maybe not as incredible as the fact that they had both survived the war, and saved each other's lives, and then Harry had managed to return his self-confidence to Malfoy earlier in the year. Maybe not as incredible as the fact that Harry had accepted Malfoy's invitation to bed last night, or that Malfoy had meant it.

Harry reached out and tightened his arm around Malfoy's waist in response, tilting back his head so Malfoy could plunge his tongue into Harry's mouth.

Malfoy moaned and sighed in response, both at once, as though he didn't know which sound he wanted to make more, and Harry smiled. Malfoy nipped his lip, probably in repayment for the smile, and then pushed Harry down into the depths of the bed. Harry was glad he had slept here last night. The aches were mostly gone from his back.

And now he could fully enjoy what was going on and above him, instead of shooting up with a curse in the middle of it.

Malfoy worked desperately with his knees for a moment. Harry couldn't imagine why, unless he had been wrong about what was going on here and Malfoy was trying to murder him by kneeling in the middle of his stomach. But then Malfoy gave a grunt of satisfaction, and Harry realized that he had finally forced Harry's knees out to the sides and apart.

That brought their groins together.

And that was brilliant.

Malfoy was already hard for some reason, and Harry was hard because he defied anyone not to be, after someone crawled on top of you and rubbed against you and stuck a tongue down your throat. So they wrestled together, Harry getting some of his own back now in the kiss, and rubbed desperately against each other, Harry breaking off the kiss at one point to gasp and pant. Malfoy promptly angled his head so that he was kissing Harry again. Harry grinned. All right, he got it. No stopping the kiss allowed.

And in the meantime, it continued to be brilliant.

Harry began to arch his back, to slam their hips more together. That made his bones bounce off Malfoy's sometimes, and Harry thought he would have bruises in the morning, but then he reflected that it was already morning and he already had bruises, so that was okay. Plus, Malfoy's mouth hung open when he did that.

And Harry discovered that he liked it, that he could make Malfoy's mouth hang open and splotches of vivid color invade his cheeks. It meant he hadn't lost his touch.

The warmth and the intensity built between them, coiled, and struck like a cobra. Harry cried out, but Malfoy's mouth mostly muffled it, as he came. Malfoy arched back on top of him, desperately humped for a second, and came in return.

His cry was not muffled. Harry heard someone else stirring in another bed.

He did have time to make sure that blankets were pulled over them before Ron tugged back the curtains on the bed. "I knew that Malfoy would try to murder you, mate. I tol—agh!"

Harry smiled up at Ron from the middle of the bed, his arm still curved around Malfoy's back, and shook his head. "Not murder me. Make me die of pleasure, maybe, but it would have been mutual in that case. Murder-suicide, maybe? I think—"

"Oh, God, shut up," Ron moaned, and let the curtain fall.

Harry burst out snickering, because he couldn't help himself. He thought maybe Malfoy would be hurt, or mortified, but he snickered along with Harry, and snuggled closer to him with a yawn. Harry was happy to oblige him. It was still early, and they could get an hour or two more of sleep before they had to wake up.

"I meant it, you know. About the empty space."

It took Harry a second to remember what the fuck Malfoy was talking about. Then he snorted and said, "The empty place in your bed and your arms? That second part you forgot to mention?"

"I meant it."

Malfoy's voice was steady, even though he kept his face crammed into Harry's shoulder. Harry hesitated for a second, his eyebrows rising. He could turn the moment off with a joke, he knew, and perhaps that would be the safer thing to do.

But since when had he ever been known for taking the safe route?

"I know you meant it," he said, and kissed the strands of Malfoy's hair that were all he could see from this angle. "Perhaps it's best for both of us that I had the sense to accept, since you didn't have the sense to make the offer the night before that."

Malfoy snorted and mumbled something about courtesy and good manners and being a pure-blood, pompous arse, except not in those words. Harry chose to deal with this by shutting his eyes and going back to sleep. Someone had to be the sensible one in this relationship.

The End.