Hey, thanks for reviewing and so many of you favouriting and subscribing! It feels rather brilliant seeing as how this is my first fic. Sorry about the length of this chapter but I'm very much for short chapters writing wise! I love writing Ron and Hermione interactions so if anyone wants to drop a few notes on peculiar arguments they may or may not have then let me know, just so I can have a few cheerful arguments amongst their love feud dance thing.

XO Bella.

"Malfoy Dear, fetch me a coffee would you?"

"No." Draco turned away, rolled his eyes and continued looking for bread, trying his best to ignore Potter's low chuckle. Could the man not see how much Draco did not want to talk to him? Was Potter stupid? Did someone drop Potter on the head when he was a baby? Probably his mother. God knew she was as far from a Legacy family as they came, poor breeding. And hanging out with Granger probably didn't help matters.

"If you won't give me a coffee would you give me a hand then?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, "With what Potter?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something," and he winked.

Draco didn't like it when Potter did whatever it was Potter was doing. And even if he did, which he didn't, he still thought it was disgusting and obvious to the nth degree. It was almost insulting to be hit on with such a lack of finesse and Draco found himself wondering how Potter could find it in himself to drag himself out of bed in the mornings – which would not only be brilliant but would smell much less like sex. He found himself fantasising about yesterday, when he had woken up in him fairly average apartment and gone into his fairly average kitchen with it's fairly average lack of The Boy Who Wanked Less Then A Minute Ago.

Well, whatever dickhead game Potter was playing wasn't going to work because Draco hadn't even thought of Harry since that last year and even if he had thought of Harry it was different ever since that fight. The fight had put Draco in the school's hospital wing for a month and he still had scars criss crossing his chest from when Potter had pushed him too hard into a shattered mirror. So no, Potter's tossing off and innuendo meant nothing to Draco Malfoy at all. He did, however, lift up his camera and grudgingly take a photograph. Grudgingly because in doing so he had to admit to himself that Potter's face was aesthetically perfect when he was being a massive prat; he couldn't not take the photo, and anyway, the light was perfect.

Malfoy was difficult to understand. Whenever Harry acted suggestively he glared at him and took a picture. It was like he was trying to document every one of his failed attempts. Maybe he kept the photos in an album and gloated over them in his spare time or maybe he wanked to them, because he was twisted and Harry was hot. Harry was going with the wanking option, which was pretty fitting to his pattern he supposed. Besides, he liked to think of Draco wanking. In his mind Draco would lay down and spread his legs like a whore and beg Harry while wanking himself off and in his mind Harry would just watch cause in his mind he actually had that kind of self control.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Stop touching yourself."

Malfoy stared at him with the aloof expression that people said felt like he looking into your soul – which Harry didn't believe because he just knew Malfoy was thinking about something girly like his emotions or his monthly cycle and just looking like that so everyone would think him manly and tough – until Harry got uncomfortable and looked away. His impassive mask, silently judging and calculating, made Harry's skin tingle; he wanted under it and under the girly emotions bit too; he wanted to break Malfoy into hysterics of want and lust and he wanted to know if, behind his low contempt filled drawl, he was a screamer or if he moaned and whimpered like a two dollar whore.

"Potter! Stop that. It's disgusting."

Draco didn't understand how Potter could sit there with his hand on his crotch rubbing his cock in front of people. For all Potter knew, Draco could be straight and this could be making him very uncomfortable – not that Draco was feeling anything but uncomfortable at the moment – hell, Draco could be a homophobic asshole who was here in a conspiracy to murder the out and proud little slut and Potter could be setting himself up for months of torture instead of the quick and easy death that his church group had planned. Draco found the bread and dropped two slices in the toaster.

"Disgusting?"

"Yes Potter. Disgusting. Crude and unimaginative."

There was a moment where Potter raised his eyebrows at Draco and licked his lips, "Effective though, I've found."

"Effective for what?"

Draco sighed inwardly realising what he'd just said; that he'd just made an opening for Potter to be more crude and disgusting then ever. Draco would have thought he'd be better at avoiding traps like this after working with Potter for the last year but all he'd achieved – aside from a certain understanding and mutual sympathising with Granger – was heighten his ability to walk into the situations blindly. Thankfully the toaster beeped and he rushed from the kitchen with his bread not even taking the time to butter it.

Harry wondered into the drawing room only to spot Malfoy hastily shoving something with pages behind the couch, pretending to be taking pictures of the wallpaper, and Harry spent several minutes trying to guess what exactly the item was. Harry was about to decide it was a porn magazine for the sake of his imagination but, knowing Malfoy, it was probably some posh magazine full of meaningful pictures taken at the birth of an ant on a half moon in July. Obviously Malfoy was planning on waiting till Harry left so he could retrieve his contraband and continue reading. Harry Potter, however, was more cunning then Malfoy would think to give him credit for; it was one of the side effects of taking on the most bastard cunt of all sneaky bossmen and his company Eater Records.

"Malfoy?"

"What Potter?"

"You're in my chair."

"And?"

"And the only time you should be in my chair is when you're in my lap," Harry winked.

And with that Draco Malfoy stormed off, once again snapping his camera at Harry for what he hoped was wank fodder – but then Harry hoped every picture of him was wank fodder. Harry smirked and fished around behind the couch for a good ten minutes before retrieving the magazine and being sent off into gales of laughter.

That afternoon Draco walked into the drawing room to find Harry sitting on a different couch to the one he'd claimed earlier with Draco's magazine in his hands. Everything about that irritated Draco, mainly because Potter was a lying thief, even if he didn't know it was Draco's magazine. Because Draco, unlike some idiots, actually knew how to be subtle.

Draco put down his coffee and sat on his chair.

"Hey Malfoy?"

"Yes, you should probably start calling me Harry."

"Oh," Draco's eyes were cold and his eyebrow a high immovable arrow because no one told a Malfoy what he should or should not do, "Should I Potter? Why would that be?"

Potter either didn't notice or completely ignored the danger and replied, "That would be because I'd hate for my last name to slip out at the wrong moment. While it is undeniably sexy, it reminds me of Hogwarts professors and I'd hate to feel like I was just finished fucking Snape instead of your fine ass."

Draco's jaw stiffened, not only at the being hit on but at the reference to his mentor Professor Snape, who had died the previous year from snake bite while looking for evidence to support Harry Potter's case against Tom Riddle for the murder of his parents, "Severus was a good man Potter."

"I know, forgive me for being insensitive but I was so caught up with the thought of fucking you."

Draco let out an angry huff, "I do not get 'fucked' Potter!"

"Sorry, I meant shagged."

Draco's eyes flashed and he walked out of the room mumbling.

Potter called after him, "Pounded then?"

Harry heard Draco try desperately to stifle a scream from the kitchen and a curse that sounded like Draco came off second best after kicking the counter in anger. He laughed heartily and leapt for the coffee he'd been eyeing off since Draco had walked into the drawing room with it. He cradled it close and took a moment to enjoy the beautiful smell that was coffee. He leant down and took a sip and grimaced. It seemed like Draco drank his coffee with more sugar then water. He shrugged put it back where he found it and called into the kitchen, "You forgot your coffee Baby."

"Don't call me that Potter. It's annoying and disgusting."

"The only thing disgusting here is the way you put more slime in your hair then even Snape."

"You know what?" Draco suddenly exploded, "the way I do my hair is none of your concern and if you don't stop making fun of Snape, so help me God, I will rip your spine out and then slap you with a lawsuit for bloodying my nails! He was your spy Potter, don't you forget that!"

"He only did it for himself! He wanted justice for my Mother and I had nothing to do with his death! We just had the same goal Malfoy."

"You're a dick Potter. He died for your fucking cause! Leave me alone and don't try to talk to me, I won't talk back."

Harry, for once, felt genuinely bad. He'd never take back what he said. Snape was a git and the man had hated him in life and wouldn't stop hating him in death. He'd not only treated him like an idiot but had sabotaged his every attempt to pass Applied Law, ruining Harry dream of joining the police force after he left school. Thankfully, Harry had discovered music, but it didn't make the fact that he could never officially arrest Tom Riddle hurt any less. It didn't make it easier to accept that he couldn't bring his parent's murderer to justice. He'd apologise to Malfoy for being rude and for bringing up the death of his favourite professor, maybe, but he'd never ever apologise for telling the truth about Snape. He regretted hurting Malfoy as he'd have to stop his little game that he was just beginning to play, no other reason, except that he'd have to be nice to Malfoy to ever get a chance at watching him lose himself over Harry and make himself into a little whore for him. That was all Harry felt bad about, because Harry didn't feel bad about anything but things that made his life difficult. He didn't really feel anything unless it was to do with himself, Mione or Ron. But he'd make it up to Malfoy, just so he wouldn't be dodging murder attempts and because he might even get some sex if he was just nice. That was all.

The next day when Draco came into the kitchen there were two jam drenched pieces of toast – just like what he used to eat in high school – on a tray in the middle of the table, next to a copy of that days Glamour Magazine and some overly sugared coffee. He eyed it suspiciously and sniffed at the coffee and took a small sip. Draco not only found the mysterious coffee palatable but pretty damn good. He looked around before picking up the gossip magazine and the toast and retreating back to his room.

Harry watched from the doorway with a small smile on his face. Because he was closer to having sex of course. Even though Draco didn't even know who made up the tray for him; a happy Draco was more likely to put out. Because Harry was selfish and in this for the sex and he kept muttering it too himself until Ron told him to shut up and to please pay attention to song writing.

Hermione was flipping through his lyric book and giving Harry a knowing smile. Harry was curious as to what Mione supposedly knew, because so far the soppy heartbroken lyrics he had been producing for the last hour had him confused and somewhat irritated.

"Don't worry Harry, I like your lyrics."

"What's that supposed to mean Mione?" interjected Ron.

"Nothing Ron. Why would it mean anything?"

"Well, I know that you're jealous of Lavender-" Harry winced, knowing that Ron had just put his foot in it. He looked over at Mione who was gripping her drum sticks hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Ron."

"Yes?"

"Don't talk to me."

Ron pouted at the way she threw his words back at him and the way she smirked rather meanly.

"Harry, lets go over 'Fuck You and Your Slut'. I think Ron may have missed some of the finer points in the chorus."

And Harry, after one glance at Mione's face put his head down and started playing.