A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has favorited this story or my penname. I really appreciate it – you have all made me smile so much! I would really love to hear from any of you in reviews! As a writer who hasn't contributed to the fandom in about four years, any positive or negative comments would be VERY much appreciated as I try to get back into the groove! Still dedicated to my lovely best friend Nadine, my pie-loving inspiration.

Part 3 - Definitions

They had all had one drink too many, Draco thought in retrospect as he watched Harry lunge across the table and slam his fist into Ron Weasley's jaw. Just one drink less, and this probably could have been avoided. Or one drink more, he mused, and then Harry would've missed Ron entirely and possibly even fallen out of the booth he was sharing with Draco, Hermione and the aforementioned recipient of the well-placed punch. Either way, the number of drinks they'd all had this night was the exact wrong number.

It was Friday, and Fridays usually meant that Harry had plans to go out with his Gryffindor friends while Draco went to visit his mother, or go out shopping, or even just stay in their flat with a martini and some Muggle movie on the telly. The telly capitivated Draco; he had never seen one growing up, but he adored it now, though he hated watching anything with Harry, who had a tendency to talk right over the characters.

Tonight, however, had been different. As Harry arrived home after work, finding Draco lounging on the couch in his new set of work robes, he asked, "So, would you like to come for dinner and drinks tonight?"

"With Hermione and the Weasel?" Draco asked.

"With Hermione and Ron, yes," Harry said, tossing himself down on the couch next to Draco. "Honestly, I've asked you – "

"Old habits die hard, Potter," Draco said with a smirk, lifting his feet off the ground and placing them in Harry's lap. "What do they want me there for? I thought tonight was a Gryffindor-only party, as usual."

"You know you're always invited," Harry protested, absent-mindedly rubbing one of Draco's feet. "But Hermione owled and specified that she'd like you to come. It'll just be the four of us, and Hermione said she wants to see how things are going at the Ministry.

"Well, as you must know, the Floo Network Authority is an absolutely thrilling place to be employed, day and night," Draco said dryly. "Regulating the simplest and least dangerous type of magical transportation is an important and exciting task which I undertake each day with a smile." He smiled sarcastically.

"Don't you dare say that in front of Hermione, you know she pulled strings to get you in. And it's just a foot in the door, with time – "

"I know, I know, with time they'll start to trust me even though I'm Death Eater spawn, and I'll get promoted and get out of the cubicle and run the whole bloody place, and I ought to be grateful to Hermione for even getting me a job when no one else in the Wizarding world would have me. How's that, then?"

"That about covers it," Harry said. "Honestly, though. I think she feels bad when you're, er, left out, and she wants you to come tonight. And so do I."

Draco sighed. "All right then. I've dined with worse company. How bad can it be?"

The answer, it turns out, was "quite bad." The meal started out fine, as Hermione questioned Draco about his work at the FNA. She expressed an absurd amount of interest considering how boring the department was, while Ron listened a bit impatiently, clearly eager to change the subject as soon as possible.

The quality of Draco's relationships with almost everyone in Harry's life had improved considerably since they had started living together a year earlier: Mrs. Weasley had taken to Draco quite quickly, needing only the knowledge that he made Harry happy to welcome him into the fold, and now that Draco no longer felt jealous that a Muggle-born was beating him in classes, he and Hermione had forged something suspiciously similar to a friendship on the basis of more than a few intellectual interests in common.

Ron, on the other hand, had been the most put out when his best mate announced that he was moving in with their former collective enemy. Draco couldn't help but feel that Weasley still held a grudge from their days at Hogwarts, and he didn't entirely blame him; he met Ron's distant not-quite-hostility with a cool politeness of his own. This was a less than ideal situation, seeing as how Draco was distinctly involved with Ron's closest friend, but it seemed to be going all right as long as they only spent time together in small doses.

Tonight's dinner-and-drinks plan, however, was not quite a small dose. After they'd finished their Chinese food in Muggle London, the four of them made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, where they sat in a small booth near the back. Harry and Ron ordered rounds of ale and talked about Quidditch at an increasingly louder volume, while Draco and Hermione sipped martinis and discussed life at the Ministry under Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The worst fights always seemed to start with the smallest offenses, and tonight was no exception. Near one o'clock, the bartender brought Draco's tab and set it on the table. Draco reached for it, but Harry snatched it up first, murmuring, "I've got it," and reaching into his pocket to rummage for a few Galleons.

"Well there's a surprise," Ron muttered in what he may have drunkenly thought was a quiet voice.

"What was that?" Harry said, freezing in the act of setting several coins on the table.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said airily, crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling.

"Didn't sound like nothing," Harry said.

"Harry, he didn't – " Hermione began.

"No, Hermione, I want to hear what Ron said," Harry said, his voice raising.

"I said," Ron drawled, "Well,there'sasurprise. As in, you paying for Malfoy – what a surprise."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked. Draco felt his cheeks flush, torn between anger and humiliation; he had a feeling he knew what Weasley was referring to.

"I just find it interesting that you always pay for him, that's all," Ron said. "You know, what with the timing of you moving in together and all, right after he lost the manor and the family fortune. Seems a bit convenient, doesn't it?"

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, placing a hand on her boyfriend's arm.

"Is that what you think, Weasley?" Draco asked quietly. "I'm here with Potter for his money?"

"I'm not sure what I think, all I'm saying is that the timing was interesting," Ron said. "I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"No, you're not, the Prophet had a day of it, didn't they?" Harry growled. "And we all know what a trusted news source the Prophet is."

"Look, all I'm saying is that sometimes it's a bit hard to swallow," Ron said. "It's not that I think he's a Death Eater, or anything – "

"He's as much of a Death Eater as I am and you know it," Harry said coolly.

"I know he was cleared by the courts and all, that's not what I'm saying – "

"I'm right here, you know," Draco interrupted.

" – but it's still a bit strange, isn't it? And Harry, you know, we all thought you'd be marrying Ginny until he came along, and it's not that he's a bloke, mate, that's not it at all, it's just that I just don't know why it's Malfoy, of all the blokes out there! Don't you remember how he was in school?" Ron's face was bright red, his words slightly slurred, and Draco looked at the horrified look on Hermione's face, the hard lines around Harry's eyes, and the empty mugs of ale on the table with a bad feeling rising in his chest.

"We were kids," Harry said quietly. "It was a different world."

"Not that different, mate. Not that different."

"Is this really how you feel, Ron? All this time you've been telling me that you accept him, that you're happy for me, has that just been lies?"

"No – yes – I don't know," Ron said. "It's just that - you know, Harry, it doesn't help that this – this whatever is going on between you two doesn't even have a name. Don't you know what people say? Don't you think that's hard for us to explain to people? I'm supposed to be your best mate and I haven't got a bloody idea what you're doing. What am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, right, he's got Malfoy living with him, I assume they're shagging but who knows anything for sure, it's not a big deal."

"You know, I don't really want to hear this," Harry said, reaching for his jacket and putting his hand on Draco's arm. "I've heard more than enough. Hermione, have a good night."

"Oh, so now you're choosing him over me? The ferret?" Ron cried.

Draco reached to pull out his wand – not to use it, he assured himself, just to show that he might – but Harry beat him to it, lunging across the table and punching Ron square in the jaw. Hermione gasped, and Draco felt his jaw drop.

Ron blinked, staring at Harry disbelievingly. A moment later, he seemed to recover; with a furious roar, he stood up and returned Harry's punch with an off-center one of his own, just grazing Harry's temple and sending his glasses flying off.

"No, don't!" Hermione cried, but it was too late – a moment later, the two wizards were brawling right on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco barely knew what he was seeing. There was Ron's bloody lower lip, a bruise forming below Harry's left eye, an elbow connecting loudly with Ron's stomach – Draco was rather proud of Harry for that one, he had to admit – but after a second's hesitation, Draco was forcibly pulling Harry away from Ron as Hermione shrieked and pulled uselessly at Ron's elbow. Neither man had done much damage to the other, but Draco didn't want to give them another shot; at any rate, the bartender was on his way over, and he knew Harry would regret this in the morning even more if the scuffle managed to make the front page of the DailyProphet.

Holding tightly to Harry's arm and muttering about "bloody heathens," Draco gave Hermione a small wave and dragged Harry out of the Cauldron and into the street.

"Let me in there, let me go!" Harry said, trying to wrench himself out of Draco's grasp.

"It's not worth it," Draco said, shoving Harry into the back of a taxi and directing the driver to their flat. "In about ten minutes you're going to start feeling where he hit you and realize you wouldn't have won that fight anyway."

By the time Draco had healed Harry's bruises and pushed him towards the bedroom an hour later, the other man's mutterings about his "supposedbest mate" and "bloody traitor" had died down and he had started to thoughtfully rub the spot on his temple where Ron had hit him. Draco undressed and climbed into bed silently as Harry twisted and turned beside him. He lay staring at the ceiling, his mind whirling with what Ron had said.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"Obviously."

Silence. Harry adjusted his pillow, groaning a little. "I'm sorry about tonight."

"You haven't got anything to be sorry for," Draco said. "Not to me, at least."

"You're saying Ishould be apologizing to Ron?"

Draco sighed. "Honestly? I think so. You swung first, Harry. Yes, he was provoking you, and I'm not saying I wouldn't have done the same, and as much as you must know it kills me to admit anything positive about Weasley, especially after the things he said, but – well, I highly doubt he ever would have hit you over the course of that argument, and I'm a bit surprised you hit him. Yes, I think you ought to apologize. Perhaps we could give him some sort of food-based gift, I know he always likes those. He'll probably forget that you socked him in the eye right off if we let him stuff his face first."

"He called you ferret," Harry mumbled.

"I call him 'Weasel' most of the time, and you've never hit me over it. He's an idiot, and he was even more of an idiot tonight, but he was also drunk. You already knew he had a problem with me living here, and you never let it bother you before. Why tonight? What the hell happened in there?"

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. He fidgeted with the blanket and gently massaged his tender knuckles.

"You've got something to say," Draco said. He felt strangely anxious and couldn't put his finger on why.

"Well," Harry said. "What Ron said about – about you and I. About how what we're doing here doesn't have a name, and about what people say…"

"You're worried about what people are saying?" Draco asked, feeling his anxiety transform into something like panic in the pit of his stomach.

"God, no," Harry said. "You know I don't give half an arse what the Prophet or anyone says. That's not what I'm saying. I'm talking about how – well – maybe he has a point. About nobody knowing exactly what we are."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "I didn't think it mattered. I thought we understood, and that was enough."

"Is it? I mean – do we? Do we understand? I think that's why I got so angry, Draco. Sometimes I don't even know what we are."

Draco rolled over until he was looking at the side of Harry's face. Harry had his eyes scrunched closed, his hands balled in the sheets at his side.

"I guess I don't either," he said. "But I know that this – works. At first I thought, well, we don't want to tear each other apart anymore, but tearing each other's clothes off sounds great – and then I thought, well, sleeping in the same bed is quite nice, why not do that full time? Simple enough. And then I realized I was worried about you when you weren't there like some kind of soppy teenage girl, and I wanted to do all these stupid little things that I thought might make you happy, and Merlin, Potter, are you going to make me go on? Please spare me the humiliation."

"Draco Malfoy, are you saying that you have some kind of feelings for me?" Harry perched himself on one of his elbows to look Draco in the eye. His voice was teasing, but Draco knew he was more serious than he seemed.

"I guess I do," Draco said. "And I don't feel like we need any of those words – boyfriend, partner, any of that bollocks – just so we make sense to everyone else. None of that makes any difference when you know that I bloody well love – that I – that I…" Draco trailed off, his face flushing. Malfoys did not say those three words first. They absolutely did not. It must have been the martinis from earlier, or the somewhat mesmerizing way that the streetlight from outside the window was catching Harry's eyes, because months and months had gone by and Draco had avoided using that dreaded phrase because Mafoys simply didnotsayitfirst. Especially to Potters.

But suddenly Draco forgot that, because the Potter lying next to him was grinning from ear to ear, and then he was planting sloppy kisses all over his face and then he was murmuring in his ear, "You arse," and by the time they spoke again the next morning, Harry had forgotten all about his anger at Ron. He was, in fact, rather grateful that his best mate's drunken idiocy had led to a certain discussion between he and his whatever-they-were.

And when a very shame-faced Ron Weasley arrived at the door to the Potter-Malfoy flat the next morning, hungover, sporting an impressive black eye and ready to ask forgiveness for "acting like a git, because really, mate, I haven't got any problem with you and Mal – you and Draco, and I know I should be more supportive and I'm really doing my best – old habits die hard, is all," Harry welcomed him in with a brisk hug, apologized for throwing the first punch, and led him to the kitchen, where Draco had Ron's favorite, a chocolate-and-boysenberry flavoured pie, all ready for the three of them to share.