Summary: Hermione and Ron want a house too themselves. Unfortunately this means that Draco Malfoy has too live somewhere new and Harry Potter needs a new room mate to help him make the rent. Hermione and Ron get their devious on and all of a sudden the two schoolyard rivals are living under the same roof. Slashy Slash slash. Eventually very dirty. Hopefully three or so chapters.
Warnings: Dom/Sub, slash, bitching and boxer wars.
AN: I'm sorry. I really am. But this beast of a story would not go away. I will be updating wanker soon if you're interested. Hope you like it. Review if you're so inclined, I will not hold it against you XD
Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly sure how he ended up living with the Golden Boy Wonder Who Lived And Died And Lived In A Confusing Manner; he was only sure that he would never forgive Hermione Granger for her level headed, logical and very persistent whining. Moving out of his comfy apartment that he shared with his best friend and coworker – or at least Granger used to be his best friend – to live with Harry Potter was never on his To-Do List, in fact, talking with Harry Potter was not there either, but somehow his overly educated friend had made him agree to the situation.
Draco was sure that Hermione Granger should have been a Slytherin.
He was also sure that this was all so Ron Weasley could move in with her and they could fuck like dirty Gryffindor rabbits.
Disgusting.
"Just because I live with you doesn't mean I have to pick up your fucking underpants Potter!" He yelled, flinging a pair of red and gold boxers at the inert body on the couch.
"Really? Why are you here then?" Potter said, not even bothering to remove the snitch covered undergarments from his face.
"Go ask Hermione fucking Granger; it makes perfect sense coming from her."
"You know that you don't have to do what she says, right?"
"Yes Potter, I know. But this is better."
"Better for what? Your sterling reputation?"
"Yes Potter, my sterling reputation."
"Ah, your father would be proud."
"You can't exactly take pot shots with dirty underwear on your face Potter."
Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and rolled over, the underpants falling back on the floor by the couch where they were less then a few minutes ago.
Draco stared at them for a full five minutes determined not to deal with the disgusting things until it became too much to see them laying on the hardwood floor he (and Potter) was paying good money for. Eventually he picked them up with a violent sounding huff and deposited them in the hamper leaving Harry Potter silently shaking with laughter.
"Fuck you, you dirty slut."
Potter just laughed harder.
The issue with Harry Potter was that he was a blithering idiot. Two weeks into living in the same apartment of the lazy and, to be honest, sluttish international quidditch star made him want to tear his hair out, because Harry Potter didn't do anything. It was like the man didn't have feelings or emotions or desires beyond mild irritation, sleeping, eating and fucking.
Hermione, Department of Mysteries employee and mutual friend of Draco and Harry, believed that maybe putting Draco in the house might change that. Draco knew she had some obscure unknown reason of her own to have the two in the same house – possibly it was just easier to nag at them and lend them books they had no intention of reading that way – but the "Harry is in a rut, Draco, a rut" reason was the one she presented to him most often, besides "It'll fix that little reputation issue right up" and blatant blackmail. The plan was to antagonise Harry Potter into action (hopefully not murder) by presenting him with his childhood rival in all his spare moments of the day. So far it was pretty ineffectual.
Draco Malfoy, in all honesty, was a cunt. Harry didn't understand how Ron Weasley had convinced him this was a good idea. It was possible that he had gotten Harry drunk enough to bet his living quarters on a game of chess against what turned out to be a very sober Ron. Harry was pretty annoyed; Ron had seemed even more pissed then Harry until that damn fucking game started.
Harry partly blamed the influence of Ron's auror partner, Theo Nott, for this new manipulative low, but most of him suspected that Ron had a lot of Slytherin in his personality from the get go.
Either way, Harry had taken to calling the him Ronald and had no intention of ever stopping. It was justified slightly in the way that Ron wanted to have an apartment to Hermione and himself and he knew that Harry was incapable of living cleanly and, as such, provided him with a neat freak room mate. It was, on a strange level, rather sweet of him.
He might have thought about forgiving his friend if it weren't for the fact Draco Malfoy was a bitch.
The man called him a slut, a whore and a lazy git, which was all well and fine because Harry could simply say muggle things like "sticks and stones, darling," and confuse him into relative silence, but when the dick had commandeered his favourite food making appliance – a deep fryer – for "top secret D.o.M. work" Harry, in his mildly irritated way, declared war.
Draco could have sworn that Harry was actually throwing every pair of boxers he wore into the living room on purpose now. It wasn't just a simple matter of convenient dropping place pre-one night stand anymore. This was deliberate aggravation on Harry's part. Draco was sick of it, not to mention at wits end trying to think of why Harry was doing it. Hermione, however, only seemed delighted that Harry was doing things deliberately, which only served to aggravate Draco more. Gryffindors were stupid people who saw rainbows where regular people saw unicorn shit, and yet they still had the balls to manipulate poor innocent people like himself into sharing living quarters with a known enemy who had no reguard for the proper placement of dirty laundry. Fuck Gryffindors. He would get a new job if he had to, because he had made a concious decision never to talk to bushy haired, bucktoothed, bookworm, Gryffindor Granger ever again.
"Hey Potter, sure you weren't a Hufflepuff?"
"What part of drunkenly gambling away my home and happiness doesn't ring of Gryffindor stupidity to you Malfoy?"
"Oh, I was just wondering because you seem to have all the typical uncontrollable urges to cuddle with your romantic... uh... people."
"Eloquent Malfoy. It's hardly my fault he fell asleep on me. Actually, it was more like he passed out... So I guess it was my fault after all."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Well, what I did was I grabbed his cock and sucked him till he made this little noise and just fainted dead away and that was only the first time. Oh you should have seen him when I -"
"Oh God Potter. Stop talking right now and get your slut off my fucking couch!"
"You are really too concerned about your damned couch. Besides he's heavy."
"He's heavy? HE'S HEAVY? Potter one of your job requirements is to pump weights the size of an gymful of guys like this! Now get him off!"
"No. Quite like it that he makes you angry by being asleep. Maybe I'll keep this one around for a while."
"Fine then. I am going to find Granger. She can deal with your body building slut."
Potter only snorted at the idea of Hermione trying to wrestle a sleepy naked male of the crotch of her sleepy naked male best friend and brother figure. Draco knew it was a fairly pathetic threat but it was the principle of the thing; if one was threatened with Granger then you had too do what you were told, you just had to. Draco's eyes narrowed, suddenly resembling the brooding storm clouds that Witch Weekly more often then not used to describe them.
"Goddammit Potter. He is drooling on my couch! I will not hesitate to floo Coach Annabel and tell her exactly what you define as exercise and don't you even begin to think that I'm bluffing!"
"You wouldn't!"
Draco's lip curled in contempt at the two naked men dripping bodily fluids all over his couch, "Oh, try me."
Potter looked panicked for a moment then noticeably relaxed as though he realised something, "Whatever. You don't even have her floo details."
"So? I'll just floo 'Mione and tell her you're too sick to call in sick. She'll give them to me in a snap, and then come over here to nurse you to health and then she'll see that you're not sick and then she'll lecture you until she's blue in the face. Then she'll notice the Neanderthal dribbling on my furniture, and then -"
"And then she'll lecture you on being a manipulative little cunt!"
"You know, I can deal with that. The Neanderthal goes, Potter. Now. And make sure to take his boxers with you."
Harry glared and looked Draco directly in the eyes and tugged at the Neanderthal's underwear and dropped them on the floor. Harry smiled – apparently the man could sleep through a hurricane.
He stood looking smugly at Draco until the blonde man's head twitched and he pulled his wand and prodded the sleeping man, sending a small shock through him. The man bolted awake and noticed his surroundings; confusedly searching for his trousers.
"Fuck Draco!" Harry snapped, "What are you doing? How do you know he's not a muggle?"
"I dunno, maybe because of the fact he kept shouting 'fuck me lord slayer'?"
The man looked between the arguing pair and looked at Draco, "Sorry," he mumbled, distinctly scared, "He, uh... Harry didn't tell me, I mean, I didn't know. It wasn't in the papers or anything, so how was I supposed to... Uh, sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Draco rounded on the large man struggling to pull his too tight jeans on.
"Sorry! I didn't know!"
"Didn't know what? Spit it out!"
"I didn't know you were together. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Draco's eyes turned dangerous, "Get out."
It wasn't until at least an hour later that Draco noticed Neanderthal's boxers were still on the floor. He hooked them on the end of a pencil and marched off to find Potter.
"Harry Potter, this is the last fucking straw!"