Summary: Draco retreated after the war. Despite the Wizarding world turning a smiling, forgiving face to any and all with a black name and stained reputation, he wanted none of it. All Draco wanted was to be left alone.
Unfortunately for him, Harry Potter doesn't want to leave him alone. And more than that, he finds himself with the most unlikely of house guests that he just can't seem to rid himself of.
Why is life never simple?

Character Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong, fundamentally, to J.K. Rowling. I've simply extrapolated. Thank you, you wonder woman. I make no profit from this work besides my own personal satisfaction.

Chapter 1: Call Him Jack

Tap-tap.

The sound prodded Draco from the depths of his sleep. A persistent niggling sound that echoed distantly. Distant, yet drawing closer.

Tap-tap…tap-tap-tap…tap-tap.

Blinking his eyes into the darkness of night, he lifted his head dazedly from the pillow. Still night? Yes, it was definitely still night. He could hardly make out the lines of his double bed, of the bookshelf wedged in one corner or the desk buried beneath a thin scattering of pale papers. It was far too early to be waking up, so why –

TAP-TAP…tap-tap-TAP…TAP-TAP.

Oh. That.

With a groan, Draco pushed himself to sitting. The sharp raps came from his window, from behind the heavy, dark curtains hanging still in the closed stagnation of his bedroom. The closed window. Which was likely the reason for the arising problem in the first place.

What am I, at his bloody beck and call?

Their relationship had always on Jack's terms. Always when he wanted it. Draco could go for weeks without hearing a peep from him and yet suddenly when he wanted Draco's attention, it had to be Right Now. Where did he get such a sense of entitlement?

Draco really should not stand for it.

And yet even as the thought occurred to him, Draco was rubbing his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and sliding to standing. The floorboards were icily cold beneath his toes; for whatever reason, his Warming Charms never endured when he fell to sleep. Picking up his wand from his bedside table, he padded in awkward steps towards the window and flicked back the curtains.

It was Jack. Of course it was. He was back, and, as always, demanding of Draco's attention. His dark figure was only a faintly darker splodge on the backdrop of the sleepy, snow-covered town of Smittson's View. Even without being able to make out his face, Draco could tell that those dark, piercing eyes were locked upon his own from the instant he stepped up to the window. They always were.

Jack never had any consideration for Draco's sleeping habits. He didn't offer even the remotest apology each time he tumbled through Draco's window and into his bedroom. There was just the assumption – the presumption – that every time he needed him, Draco would always offer assistance.

The bloody bird.

The little merlin perched on the narrow windowsill cocked his head under Draco's regard, finally stopping its demanding tapping. Staring back at it, eyes narrowing, Draco pursed his lips. He could let the bird in. He should, though for no kindly reasoning, no sympathy for the feathery bastard who had interrupted his sleep from the chilly outdoors of early winter's night. His primary reasoning lay in that, should Draco continue to ignore him, Jack would undoubtedly begin his tapping once more.

"What do you want?"

Draco's breath fogged the window, nearly obscuring the bird. Not enough that he missed the further tilting of his head back the other way, however, nor the very deliberate shift of his feet that seemed to offer a reply as surely as any spoken words. Draco didn't need to be a bird interpreter to know what was said: you may as well open up, because I'm not leaving.

Sighing, Draco scratched at the back of his head before sweeping his wand in a wordless Lumos. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at the merlin now illuminated by yellow light. The orange-white plumage of his breast was dyed a pale grey in the night. "I have absolutely no obligation to let you in. So I'm not going to. Not tonight."

Silence.

"You're late, for one. And it's far too cold for me to open the window for even a second. Go and find somewhere else to sleep."

More silence.

Draco sighed. "You can sit there all night, it's not going to make an ounce of difference. This is my house. I have no reason to allow your accommodation."

And more silence. Until the bird shifted slightly once more and, in a remarkably un-bird-like display, stuck his leg out sideways. Deliberately. As though showing off a –

"What have you done now?" Draco groaned, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. He peered through his fingers a moment later. The merlin still held his leg aloft at an odd angle, showing off the ruddy red-black stain and torn feathers of what was very obviously an injury. Jack's piercing black eyes regarded Draco pointedly. "Why do you always come to me?" Though even as he asked Draco knew exactly why.

There was something to be said for a bird's memory.

With another deliberate motion, the merlin leant forwards and tapped once more on the glass. Tap…tap-tap...tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-TAP-TAP-

"Alright, alright, shut up already." Grumbling, Draco jiggled the latch on the window and slid it open. It caught slightly, as old windows do, juddering in a poor semblance of wood sliding on smooth wood. A gust of chilling air, even colder than the floorboards beneath Draco's feet, rushed into the room, seeping instantly through his shirt and loose pyjama bottoms and erecting a landscape of goose bumps across every surface of skin. "Hurry up, come in, then."

At least Jack had the decency to hasten into the room. In a flutter of wings and an awkward, hobbling leap, he ambled through the window. Draco slid the window shut, drawing the curtains once more and casting a Warming Charm throughout the room in sharp, cutting motions. He turned with a sigh as heat pooled quickly around him.

"There, that's better – what are you doing?! Not on the desk!" Striding across the room, Draco swept his arms in a shooing gesture at the merlin huddled comfortably in the midst of his paperwork. He'd seated himself right atop of the documents on the Lazenby incident. Papers Draco had nearly finished filling out and didn't much fancy re-writing, thank you very much.

Jack was unimpressed by his gesticulations. He didn't so much as flinch at Draco's shooing motions. In quiet regard, the little bird stared him down with unblinking eyes. And though it was likely Draco's own perception skewing the matter, he could swear he looked smug.

Glaring down at the merlin venomously, Draco folded his arms across his chest once more. "You are the bane of my existence, bird," he muttered. The smugness only intensified, underscored by the bird's further nestling into its bed of papers.

Sighing, Draco pulled the chair out from the desk and fell heavily onto the thinly padded cushion. Propping his elbows on the desk, he dropped his chin onto one hand and stared at the merlin. Who stared right back. He'd never admit it aloud, but if they were ever to hold a staring competition, Jack would undoubtedly win.

"Alright, then. Let me take a look at you." Dropping his hand from his chin, Draco leant forward in his seat. He rapped the tip of his wand on the desk before the bird in an echoing mimic of that Jack had rapped and he finally heaved himself to his feet once more, shuffling towards him. Draco pointed his glowing wand towards the limp leg.

The pale, downy feathers were discoloured by bloodstains, patchy where a number had obviously been ripped out. The skin beneath was crusted and blackened with its own blood, scores of deep gouges raking down into the scales of the merlin's foot. The limb was a mess, to be frank. It was no wonder Jack was favouring it.

"You've certainly done a number on yourself this time," Draco muttered, more to himself than to Jack. The bird didn't reply anyway. "Honestly, you must injure yourself more than any other creature in existence. Do you have a death wish or something?"

Jack did reply this time. With a ruffle of feathers, he coughed a cheep followed by a series of clucks. Had Draco not known better, not known that the bird couldn't understand him, he would assume he was being reprimanded for his assumption. "Fine, whatever. Don't tell me. Even if I do have a right to know given that I'm your default healer. How many times has it been now? Six? Seven?"

Another series of clucks, followed by a muted "ki-ki-kee", and the bird edged forward slightly once more. In another very deliberate gesture, he shoved his foot further towards Draco. The message could not have been clearer: fix it.

"Yes, your majesty," Draco grumbled. Pausing only to offer another resentful scowl, Draco set to muttering Healing Charms under his breath. Those to mend muscle and sinew, those to knit torn skin, hastening charms to speed up recovery, blood-warmers to get the blood flow hastening more rapidly towards the rejuvenating wound. He'd practiced them all a number of times – about seven, to be more precise – and could claim to be fairly familiar with them by now. Even the charms to minimise scarring and promote feather regrowth rarely took more than two tries anymore.

Jack was immobile under Draco's ministrations. Balancing like a flamingo on one leg, the merlin regarded him with those flat, unblinking eyes. He gave not even a faint shift of discomfort, the wary but curious peering at his own recovering injury, which had accompanied the administration on the bird's earlier visits. Yes, seven visits to Draco's makeshift nurse's station had apparently swept any nervousness he may express at human company entirely under the rug.

It was a long ordeal. Wounds did not mend quickly, or cheaply. By the time he'd finished, nearly an hour had passed and Draco was leaning, one hand propped under his chin once more, and tiredly struggling to keep his eyes open. Finally, with a fluff of feathers as though ruffled by the bird himself, the final spell rippled into completion.

"There, done. All. Completely. Finished." Sighing, Draco heaved himself to his feet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose once more, peering down with narrowed eyes at the merlin as he hobbled about the table on his newly healed limb. Very deliberately not avoiding Draco's paperwork, he noted. With a trilling cheep, the bird fluffed his feathers once more, shaking out his wings loosely and scattering down onto the desktop.

Satisfied. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

Turning from his seat, Draco shuffled back towards his bed. "Well then, if that's all, I would very much like to get back to sleeping. Some of us have work tomorrow, you know." He didn't glance over his shoulder towards the other occupant of the room, didn't spare him a moment more of his notice. Hell, he'd already given up more than enough of his precious sleeping hours to healing Jack from his own stupidity. He would sleep, dammit, feathery intruders be damned.

Falling onto his bed, Draco folded himself into his blankets and clamped his eyes shut. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was necessary, and no amount of badgering from a persistent merlin could deny him his drift into oblivion. Besides, he'd already allowed it into his house out of the cold. What more could the bird ask?

The muffled flap of wings signalled Jack's movement about the room. Doing what, Draco knew not, and he very resolutely didn't open his eyes to check. Not even when the flapping and scuffing approached him irritatingly closely, right to the left of his head, and abruptly ceased.

Silence. Absolute, blessed silence. It was the perfect atmosphere for sleep, what with the very distinct lateness of the night, the comfort of the pillow under Draco's head and the pervasive warmth of the lingering Warming Charm seeping through the room. So naturally, Draco had to open his eyes to check. Just to check that the Lazenby report wasn't even now being ripped to shreds and used as an impromptu nest.

Jack was asleep, the bloody thing. Squatting upon Draco's left nightstand and nestled firmly atop his new copy of 'Merlins of the Wicklow Mountains', his eyes were already firmly shut, wings folded to give the impression of an old man dozing with shoulders hunched. If he strained his ears hard enough, Draco swore he could hear something what sounded like snoring.

Grunting, Draco closed his eyes once more. Good. The bird was asleep. So now he could sleep. And as for the next morning… well…

He sighed. Merlin be damned.

With a fumbling grab for his wand on the opposite nightstand, Draco threw another succession of wordless charms over his shoulder. The sound of his bedroom door opening, then that of the distant kitchen window, squeaked through the small house. Satisfied, Draco dropped his wand back onto the nightstand and burrowed himself once more into his blankets. At least now the merlin would be able to get out of his house when he awoke without waking Draco to demand an exit. Perhaps Draco could even make up the hour of sleep he'd lost.

He gave himself over to the dragging weight of blessed sleep.

Jack was gone the next morning. Of course he was. Without even a grateful 'thank you', the bird had left.

Draco didn't care. Not really. And his sour mood was entirely because, contrary to his hopes, he hadn't been able to sleep in more. The timed alarm he'd logged onto his wand had still urged him from the depths of sleep at the crack of dawn.

All that was left of his night visitor was the odd tuft of downy feathers atop his nightstand, the desk, a couple scattered on the floor. With a sigh, Draco whisked them into an open jar that held similar feathers, wedged as a prop at one end of his bookshelf. There was quite a collection now. Such accumulated after dozens of visits.

Dozens of visits over half as many months from Draco's little merlin.

A/N: Hi everybody! I hope you liked the first chapter and feel enticed enough to stick with the story! If you have any thoughts, suggestions, questions or critiques, please let me now and leave a review. I absolutely LOVE hearing from anyone and everyone!