Harry sighed as he lifted his pack and took a look around the flat, making sure he brought everything he needed. Ten days was a long time.

He and Draco had got in another fight, and Harry was looking at another week at Hermione's flat. Sitting alone, getting drunk, and counting the days were not high on his list of Most Fun Ways To Spend a Week and a Half, but that couldn't be helped. He knew what Draco needed, and with that thought he hefted his pack and stepped through the Floo.

Hermione understood, barely glancing up when he stepped through the flames. Harry nodded at her, went down the left hand corridor and dropped his things down in the second room on the right. Hermione's guest bedroom. His home away from home. He sat on the bed and theorized Draco's week.

He would spend the first two days clearing his mind, the next three days trying to remember what they fought about, the four days after that wondering if Harry would ever come back, and one realizing that if he didn't, he would find him and cart his arse back home.

Those ten days passed very slowly for Harry. He tried getting pissed, he tried talking walks. He tried taking walks while getting pissed. Unluckily for Harry, however, he was a philosophical drunk, and all this time was spent thinking about Draco. Or, more specifically, wishing Draco could speed up this routine, and take five days instead of ten. Or maybe two, even. No, not two. Harry was nothing if not realistic.

Finally, finally it was Thursday. Harry re-packed, waved goodbye to Hermione, and Flooed back home. Draco was there (it was the tenth day, he'd taken off from work) and they shared a long look.

"Welcome home." Draco offered a smile.

Harry grinned in return. "It's good to be back."