Finally back.
I don't own Harry Potter.
1.
A month after Ginny left Harry, he received a Floo call from Draco.
He was sitting in the foyer, mechanically drinking an espresso – he didn't want to sleep anymore, he dreamed of her and then would wake up to a cold bed – and then Draco's head appeared in the flames.
Of course, Harry had started and spilled the hot drink all over himself, and of course Draco had simply rolled his eyes while the former Gryffindor had leapt about the room, howling. And of course, after Harry had returned from getting a new pair of pants, Draco had said, "Well, I see your manners haven't changed much. It's rude to keep a guest waiting, you know."
Harry sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. "You called me, Malfoy. That makes you an intruder, not a guest. How did you even find out where I lived?"
"I work at the Ministry, Potter. Remember? Funny how it's you that ended up just living off your fortune," he sneered.
Harry clenched his jaw. "What do you want?"
"Blunt." Draco paused for a moment. "I… I am formally inviting you over to my house."
"What?"
He rolled his eyes once more. "Do you really need me to say it again? What," the blonde scoffed, "Is this really too complicated? A former classmate is inviting you over to catch up. We always were the best of friends, you know."
He squinted his emerald eyes. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I'm telling you the location of my safe house, which I'm currently at. It's 143 Stelenov Path. I'm expecting you in, oh, half an hour; maximum. See you then, Golden Boy."
And with that, his head disappeared from the flames.
Harry sat there for perhaps another minute, gaping at the sheer audacity of Malfoy. But then again, what did he expect in a meager five years from the Battle of Hogwarts? Maturity? Sure, everyone had hoped that the blond would maybe officially join the Light, or at least apologize, but he had simply taken a position at the Ministry and cut ties with, oh, everyone. Even some former Slytherins, like Zabini, had lost communication with Draco. He worked, went home, repeat. Day after day after day.
According to the rumor mill, of course. Harry hadn't spoken to Draco since seventh year.
He glanced at the clock. It was already twelve, but… Well, he wouldn't actually go over there, would he? It could easily be a trap.
Well….
He sent a letter to Hermione with Hedwig II letting her know what was going on, without specifically giving the address. And half an hour later, Harry threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped in. "143 Stelenov Path," he coughed out, before vanishing.
o.O.o
"Well," Draco said, pouring two cups of tea, "I'll be honest. I didn't expect you to show up." He waved his wand, and the kettle zoomed back to the kitchen, behind Harry – the two were in armchairs facing each other, perpendicular to the flickering fireplace. He then slid a mug across the coffee table to Harry, who glanced at it suspiciously.
"No thanks."
The blond scoffed. "Fine."
Harry paused before pulling out his wand and tapping the mug – someone had developed a spell to test if a drink was spiked, after a rich heir was poisoned by his girlfriend for infidelity. After a few moments, the mug glowed blue, and Harry picked it up slowly.
"Why did you call me here?" He took a small sip, and his glasses fogged up.
Draco's grip tightened on the mug, though he kept his tone nonchalant. "Come on, do we have to jump into business? How's Weaselette? Engage in small talk, it's polite."
"Fine." Harry set the drink down and waited for his glasses to clear somewhat. "First of all, call her that again and I'm leaving. Second, I don't know how you didn't hear, considering it's all over the news, but we're no longer together. Since about a month ago."
"Hmm." Draco pursed his lips. "Well I haven't been reading the Daily Prophet, it's just a rag. I'm surprised I didn't hear Granger screeching about it, though."
"Oh, right – you work together. How's that faring?"
"She hasn't hexed me yet, I consider that a success."
Harry nodded sagely, brushing some leftover ash off his sleeves and onto the thickly carpeted floor. "Well, give it some time. You'll piss her off eventually."
"Thanks."
They fell silent, and Harry used that time to look around. There only seemed to be one or two bedrooms, and there was a closet by the front door that had an umbrella stand by it. It was quaint, with candles flickering above the fireplace and the kitchen completely visible from the living room, and devoid of a House Elf or two.
"I expected it to be… larger," he said absentmindedly.
Draco quirked a brow, and Harry colored.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's just that you were always so stuck up – you still are, I think – so I figured anything you owned would be… excessive."
The blond shrugged. "Sometimes it's good to have a smaller space. Obviously my manor is much, much larger than this. Twenty times larger? It's probably larger than your house, too. And better decorated."
"You can go ahead and think that. So, speaking of love lives, how's Astoria doing? Did you propose, or…?"
"Oh, I broke that off a while ago. God, Potter, aren't you reading the news? Or do you only bother when it's about you?"
"Very funny, Malfoy."
He smirked. "I certainly thought so. Fame finally go to your head? It was only a matter of time."
Harry scowled. "Alright, I'm done. I want answers. Now. Why you called me here?"
Draco leaned forward and placed the mug delicately on the table. The front of his robe flared open slightly, and Harry could see the collarbones jutting out violently. Then he looked closer, at the way Draco's hair was thinning slightly, and the way his sallow skin stretched over the crevices he had for cheekbones now. The blond leaned back in the chair, thin wrists resting on the arms, and he heaved a sigh before looking up.
His clouded blue eyes met Harry's bright ones, and he said, "Because I'm dying, Potter."