Potter, it would seem, was an early riser. When Draco got to the kitchen for food in the morning, still in his t-shirt and pajamas - his host was already potting a kettle on. "We should talk," Potter said. His hair had fallen over his glasses and he pushed it away with a gesture half-impatient, half-oblivious. Draco eyed the way he stood there, king of his own, decrepit castle, and felt bile rise up.

Potter got to kiss Ginny. He got to do it whenever he wanted to. They were together and he was just there, up in the attic, trying to ignore that attraction. He should leave.

"Life is filled with shoulds," Draco said. "You should have died."

"I break rules a lot," Harry said. He smiled at some private joke and Draco remembered the way he and his cohorts had always been getting caught in some shenanigans or other. School had been endless whispers about had Potter really done whatever rumor said this time. Being Dumbledore's favorite had made him untouchable.

The thought of Dumbledore made Draco's stomach lurch and, wanting to not think about that, he slammed open first one cupboard then another looking for sugar. He found old plates that should have been thrown away, a beer stein that nearly quivered with magic but also had a large spider perched on the handle, and a tin of expired sardines. No sugar.

When he turned around, Potter held a white bowl with horrid pink flowers all around it. "Looking for this?" he asked.

Draco took it, and the spoon Potter held out. "Interesting taste in china," he said. "I would have thought you were more of a kittens kind of guy, but the little roses are nice too."

"Are you ever not a dick?" Potter asked.

Draco measured out first one, then two spoonfuls of sugar. He opened a tea bag and managed not to say Potter would be the kind of person to use bags and not loose tea. Finally, he took the whistling kettle off the flame and said, "I hate you, so no, probably not."

"Why?" Potter sounded genuinely confused. He waited for Draco to pour water, poured his own, then sat at the table.

"If you have to ask, Potter," Draco said. He leaned up against the counter and took a sip. The shock of the sweetened tea made his mouth curl but he wasn't going to dump it out and try again with less sugar now. He took another sip, then another. He would drink this whole mug with a smile before he'd admit he'd messed it up to Harry Potter. "Aren't you too good for me, anyway? The hero and the villain? What is this, some children's puppet show with a tidy moral at the end?"

"No," Potter said. His eyes roamed over Draco's face then dropped to his arms.

Draco slowly turned his wrist so Potter could see the Dark Mark burned into his skin. "Like I said, villain," he said. The rotation made his shoulder ache, and he wanted desperately to cover up the marks of detention, but he refused to let this man, of all people, see him try to hide anything. He'd just brazen it out. "Want me to describe what it's like to get one?"

"Not really," Potter said. He looked like he might be ill at the idea but his eyes didn't stray from Draco's arm. "I'm not that interested in your little gang tattoo."

"Then maybe you should stop staring at it," Draco said. He took another sip of the vile tea. "I might start to get ideas."

Potter flushed. Draco almost dropped his mug as a dull red crept up Harry Potter's neck, over his face, and up into his dark hair. It left the scar on his forehead a stark white. What on earth? He'd just thrown that out there, a blind jab in the dark. He hadn't expected to score a hit.

"I just want to get some ground rules set up," Harry said. He sounded as if he were choking on something. "Since we're stuck living together."

"Do we trade nights?" Draco asked. "With Ginny? I mean, I think I'm being pretty liberal not minding my wife has a boyfriend, but – "

"Stop it Malfoy." Harry said. The words were still half-strangled and Potter looked so uncomfortable and red Draco, no stranger to unforgiving pale skin that showed every thought, relented. It wasn't as if he wanted to drag Ginny though the mud anyway.

"Look, I'll stay out of your way," he said. "You don't want me here, I get it."

"I don't think you do," Potter said slowly. "It was my idea to – "

"Saint Potter, I know," Draco said. "Always there for the downtrodden." He set his over-sweetened tea down on the counter. "And believe me, I'm very grateful. I'll be in my room, making no noise, being grateful."

For some inexplicable reason that made Potter look even more miserable. Draco tried to care, but he really didn't. Whatever demons plagued the Chosen One were his own problem.

Ginny found him up in his room. He'd whisked himself up the stairs, still hungry but grateful to have an excuse to leave the tea behind. He'd thrown himself down on the bed and tried to ignore any thoughts. He'd stopped feeling in jail. He didn't need to feel. Life was much easier without feelings.

He ignored her knock, and she ignored his silence and came in anyway. At his glare, she set a tray down and said, "I don't plan on doing the waiting-on-you wifey thing, so don't get used to this."

"We'll figure out how to undo it," he said without explaining what he meant. He knew she'd follow along. "I don't want a wife and Merlin knows you're too smart to want me. You can marry Potter and live happily ever after. Two good people in love. The heart rejoices."

She sat on the edge of the bed and laced her fingers through his. The touch was electric. He inhaled through his nose and counted to five so he wouldn't yank his hand away, so he wouldn't hold on tightly. "You have a real knack for being a shite," she said.

"I don't want to be in the way," he said stiffly. "While I'm very grateful that you – "

"Stop," she said. She tightened her grip on him. "I liked you more as an arsehole than as this very polite person determined not to be an imposition."

"Well, I am so determined," he said. If possible, his voice had gotten even more rigid. "Though I did mean to thank you for the pain potions. That was very considerate of you."

Her smile grew ever so slightly predatory. "That wasn't me," she said. She yanked on his hand hard enough that he had to sit up to keep her from wrenching his arm right out of his shoulder. Gentle she wasn't and all those years playing Quidditch had left her fit.

Very fit.

He was going to ask if it hadn't been her who had left the pain medication but he'd no sooner formed the question in his mind than he knew the answer. It made him want to throw them all away. "Potter," he said bitterly.

"The one and only," Ginny said. She must have read his thoughts because she added, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice, "I know you aren't stupid enough to bin something just because Harry gave it to you."

"Oh?" he asked. He could hear he was being an idiot but he said it anyway. "Maybe I am just that stupid."

She laughed and his heart lurched and he decided he needed to figure out the most logical reasons he would leave a bride he was so newly reunited with. Maybe he could go on some kind of penitent's walk, or on a research trip to someplace far, far away, or just go into hiding. Something, surely, would be believable.

"We're going into Diagon Alley today," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

"That's nice," he said.

"I'm not asking if you want me to pick you up anything," she said. "I'm telling you to get ready to put on a show." She leaned forward and said in a mock whisper, "The press."

"Shite," Draco said.

"Oh yes," she said. "We'll go, meet my family for lunch. My mother plans to fawn on Harry, bustle about you, and all in all give the impression we're all one big happy group."

Draco could think of few things less appealing.

"Your mother will probably find the eventual article reassuring," Ginny said.

His head shot up and he looked at her, searching for the malicious guile he was sure had to be behind any statement that pointed. She looked back, not even trying to hide that she was manipulating him but there wasn't a drop of malice to be seen. "You're sneaky," he said somewhat begrudgingly. He didn't need another reason to admire her.

"So's Harry," she said.

He didn't think he'd be admiring Harry Potter any time soon.

"We can kiss again," she said. "Last time for the ministry good behind the keyhole, this time for whatever photographer is hiding in the bushes."

"Great," Draco said.

"So, eat that, come downstairs looking pretty, and we'll go out and charm the masses," she said.

"How do I know you didn't spit in it?" he asked, but he'd already accepted he needed to eat.

"You don't," she said before she left, a grin on her face.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank you for your patience with the slow updates and all your support. It means the world.