Title: Morning

Disclaimer: Jo Rowling owns 'em. I'm nothing but a bad, bad puddy tat who likes to play with things that aren't mine.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: T or PG

Warnings: Language, mention of sex, innuendo.

Summary: Draco doesn't do morning. Harry reflects on this whilst hiding from him.

A/N: Just something I wrote for fun. :D

Draco doesn't do mornings.

Harry thinks it was worse before Draco got introduced to coffee, that damn Yankee drink. Or maybe now mornings are hell because now he's tried coffee and now he knows what it's like to be without it in the morning. Either way, Draco in the mornings is someone to avoid.

Harry's morning routine goes something like this:

1) Wake up.

2) Get up and make coffee.

3) Lay out their copy of the Prophet and leave a cup of coffee in Draco's special mug under a warming charm on the table.

4) Hide from Draco.

Draco really earns the name "Dragon" in the mornings. Harry would swear he actually breathes fire.

This morning is no exception.

Harry is hiding in the attic at Number 12, Grimmauld Place under the guise of cleaning it out and actually just trying not to have another sneezing fit due to all the dust when he hears Draco get up. He sits very still, making no noise and pretending that he doesn't exist. He wonders bemusedly if he could guilt Draco into better morning behaviour if he pointed out that it gives him flashbacks to living in his cupboard at the Dursleys'.

He doesn't really think so, though it's probably a great way to get some spectacular guilt sex from the blond once he's had his morning coffee.

He files the idea away for later.

He can hear Draco crashing about downstairs and cursing, and wonders with amusement what on earth Draco seems to be tripping over. Normally Harry's the one with two left feet, while Draco is nothing but the picture of grace and elegance.

There's a bang, Draco curses particularly loudly, and Harry snickers. Bad move, Harry; bad move.

"Harry!" roars Draco. The man has the hearing of an owl, able to pick up the exact location of a scurrying mouse in the dark in a tenth of a second. Harry snickers in the attic while Draco is on the main floor? He might as well announce his presence with a brass band.

Harry debates the wisdom of emerging from his hidey hole. He makes a quick list of pros and cons.

Pro: Get away from all the dust that's currently making my nose swell up.

Con: Draco will find me.

Pro: Draco won't be mad at me for hiding on him.

Con: Draco will be mad at me for some other reason.

Pro: I can eat breakfast and go about my day.

Con: Draco will find me.

Pro: I get to be there when Draco starts being nice to me again.

Con: I have to be there before Draco starts being nice to me again.

Nope, Harry is definitely staying in the attic.

He loves Draco. He does. He really, really does. Draco is sweet and funny and witty and clever and a right snarky bastard, all rolled into one. Except in the mornings. Then he's just a bastard.

"Harry!" Draco bellows again. "Where's my coffee?"

Harry groans and drops his head onto his knees with an audible thunk. He briefly considers moving into the attic permanently. Merlin knows Draco would never think to look for him there.

But now he remembers leaving Draco's coffee beside the sink this morning instead of putting it out, and the kitchen IS a mess due to the remodeling, so all of a sudden the crashing and banging around Draco's doing makes sense, and the poor housework-inept blond will probably not even notice the mug next to the sink, dismissing it as a dirty dish without getting close enough to check it.

And Merlin save them all, last night he was too preoccupied thinking about Draco's arse in those new charcoal trousers of his to remember to wash Draco's special mug before rushing upstairs to join the blond in bed (although he would insist under Veritaserum that it's not his fault; Draco was being very impatient and persuasive to get Harry to "leave it for the morning" and join him now.), and this morning he was too bleary-eyed and tired from being up half the night to remember.

See, Draco has a "special" mug. He was given it when he graduated the Auror Academy by his trainer – who Harry swears had the hots for him before she found out he was gay, although Draco maintains that Harry was just jealous – and this mug says, "World's Greatest Auror" on it. Draco refuses to drink his coffee from any other mug. Harry is always careful to wash and dry the mug every night so it's ready for the morning.

So, to recap, he has to leave the sanctuary of the attic, rescue the blond in distress from the hazards of the currently-being-remodeled kitchen, hand him a cup of coffee that was not left at the table under a warming charm for him, and is not in his special mug.

Merlin's natty old knickers, this was not going to be pretty.

With a groan, Harry reminds himself that he loves the prat, so he puts up with Malfoy in the mornings to have Draco around the rest of the time. That's his way of coping with the situation; separating pre-coffee Draco into "Malfoy", in honour of their Hogwarts days, and post-coffee Draco is just Draco.

Harry sighs and heads downstairs to help his husband out. "Draco," he mutters. "You owe me."

After all, what else is a good husband to do?