Author's notes: I'm sorry for the lack of update, everyone! I actually went on vacation for a couple of weeks before I had the chance to upload this. Thank's for your patience, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3 – And I found this boy

Draco was gasping for air, the room around him starting to blur into view. It was elegantly appointed, the mocha coloured walls and the parquet flooring giving it a cosy feel. An unmade king-sized bed was stationed at the far corner of the room next to a mahogany bookcase, the latter with its scarce contents scattered across the shelves. Draco looked out one of the wide windows above a comfortable looking leather sofa, and came to a startling realization

"We're still in London?" he asked incredulously, hastily stepping away from Potter, who still had his arms wrapped loosely around Draco's waist.

"Well, yeah" Potter answered indifferently. "This is my flat."

Draco couldn't believe his ears.

"Are you really as thick as you look, Potter?" he shouted, quickly closing the curtains over the windows. "Did it ever cross your mind that the reporters probably were watching your place as well?"

"Well, of course I thought of that" Potter snapped. "That's why I didn't take us there."

Draco stared at him, completely nonplussed.

"But you just said…" he hesitated. "Isn't this your flat?"

"One of them" Potter answered irritably. "The contract states that it belongs to a certain Mrs Milburn, though. I've checked, there are no other wizards residing in this particular area, so it's completely Prophet-proof. I go here when I want to be left alone."

"Oh" was all Draco managed to say. This statement was followed by a long, uncomfortable silence in which Potter sank down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands, his breathing heavy.

Draco waited for a few minutes, hoping that Potter soon would come to his senses. Nothing happened, though – Potter just sat there, his exhales becoming more and more ragged. And then, Draco realized…

Potter was crying.

The Boy Who Lived was sitting in front of him in his sofa, sobbing uncontrollably, and Draco didn't even feel the slightest urge to laugh at him. This was surreal.

"Hey, Potter" he said gently, tentatively sitting down next to Potter in the sofa. "What's… what's wrong?"
Oh, that was just brilliant. The man was crying his ruddy eyes out, and all Draco could come up with was 'Hey Potter, what's wrong?'. Real smooth.

"I'm s-sorry, Malfoy" Potter whispered, his voice broken and muffled since his face was still buried. "You can leave… if you want. I shouldn't have…" He trailed off, breaking into sobs that made his whole body shake violently.

"No, no, of course not, Potter!" Draco shouted, desperate to make the crying stop. "I don't want to leave, I'll stay here. It's OK, I promise."

His words didn't seem to soothe Potter as much as he had intended them to do. Instead, Potter started to shake even more ferociously than before, causing Draco to panic. All thoughts about the article in the Prophet evaporated, he reached out and patted Potter cautiously on the back. He quickly regretted this action, though. What was he doing?

He stood up again, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, Draco's awkward attempt at consolation seemed to have had some kind of effect. Potter had at least stopped sobbing, and was now looking up at Draco with an odd expression, his cheeks glistening with tears.

"I don't even know why I came back," he said in a low voice. "I was just supposed to give you your wand, and then leave." He paused, looking at Draco more intently.

"I couldn't, though. In a weird way, it was kind of nice to hear you insult me again." He went silent, apparently feeling like he had said too much.

Afraid that Potter would break into tears again, Draco decided it was necessary that he continued the conversation.

"You know you can always count on me when insults are concerned" he said dryly. "I've got quite a few in stock."

Potter smiled wryly, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"I don't doubt it," he said sardonically. "I'll bet you and your Slytherin pals are going to have a good laugh over this, for instance. Harry Potter, crying like a baby… classic, huh?"

"We probably would" Draco admitted. "If they were speaking to me."

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he say something like that to Potter, of all people?

Potter considered him for a moment, and then suddenly stood up from the couch.

"Will you stay?" he asked briskly, his mood completely transformed - he didn't look sad at all anymore. "Just a few hours. We could talk over dinner?"

Draco shrugged. He was already here, wasn't he?

"Yeah, why the hell not? It's not like I can go home, anyway."

"I guess not." Potter's voice was expressionless as he turned away from Draco, throwing his glasses away on the sofa.

And then, Potter took off his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Draco shouted incredulously, quickly looking away from Potter's all too exposed back.

Potter turned around, looking surprised.

"I'm going to take a shower" he said simply, throwing away the shirt as he spoke. "You should too."

"I'm not going to jump in the shower with you, Potter!" Draco snapped, giving Potter a murderous glare.

A dark flush spread across Potter's cheeks.

"I didn't mean… it's… you can take a shower after me, that's what I meant!"

"Is this common behaviour from your part?" Draco snarled. "Throwing your clothes off in front of people you barely know?" He tried very hard not to look at Potter's naked torso – it bothered him a lot more than he would like to admit.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Potter said in a mocking voice, taking one casual step towards Draco who instinctively drew backwards and turned to face the wall. He could hear Potter unzipping his jeans, dropping them to the floor. "I can't be worse than Crabbe or Goyle, can I? You must have seen them in the showers after Quidditch practise all the time."

"I can't recall agreeing to watch a Gryffindor strip right in front of me," Draco muttered coolly, still keeping his gaze fixed at the tapestry.

"Well," Potter chuckled, "if staring at the wall makes you feel… straighter, I guess that's your choice."

Draco twisted his head towards Potter so rapidly he could have sworn he heard something in his neck snap.

"I don't need to feel straighter" he spat. "I'm as straight as I can possibly be, thank you very much."

"A bit touchy, aren't we?" Potter teased, edging even closer. Draco suddenly became painfully aware that the other man was wearing nothing but his underpants. Fighting the urge to run away, he stayed rooted on the spot, facing Potter with what he hoped was a look of cool arrogance.

"Even if I were… gay… you don't think you would be enough to attract my attention, do you?"

Potter half-smiled, moving again - he was so close Draco could feel the heat radiating from his body. The Gryffindor leaned forward, his warm breath grazing Draco's cheek as he spoke.

"Then why does this make you so uncomfortable, Draco?"

The use of his name made Draco fire up, and he roughly shoved Potter away.

"Pretty cocky for a guy who was sobbing like a little girl just five minutes ago, huh?" he sneered, moving past Potter without looking at him.

"You're such a git, Malfoy."

"Always have been."

Potter didn't say anything else, but exited the room through a doorway that seemed to lead to the flats entrance hall. A door slammed shut and Draco waited a few minutes to be completely sure that Potter had locked himself inside the bathroom before walking through the doorway himself.

The hall was quite small, but the cream white tapestry on the walls made it seem larger than it really was. A clothing rack was placed next to the front door which Draco was facing, a dark trench coat and a couple of shirts similar to the one Potter had worn the previous night the only pieces of clothing hanging from it. A few pairs of shoes were scattered carelessly beneath the rack against the wall – mostly sneakers, but also a pair of sleek looking leather shoes that Draco could have easily pictured himself wearing if he had that kind of money.

There was the unmistakeable sound of sprinkling water from a door on Draco's right – obviously the bathroom. On his left, an open door seemed to lead to the last room of the apartment, a combined kitchen and dining room, which Draco hastily decided to enter. He didn't want to wait in the hall for Potter to come out from the bathroom, and he might as well have a look around.

Potter's kitchen was, like the hall, small and unpretentious with the same shade of white on the wallpaper. A few worktops were lined against the right wall, and a small, wooden table with two chairs were placed in the middle. No dishwasher, Draco noticed - dirty plates and glasses were filling up the sink. Potter was obviously not as good at cleaning spells as he was at conjuring chairs from thin air.

It was clear that Potter only lived here temporarily. The flat seemed empty, in a way – no excess of belongings, no personal artefacts divulging very much about the person living there. It could easily have been a hotel suite.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the unwashed dishes. Well, the flat did reveal something about its owner… Potter was kind of a slob.

Draco's stomach rumbled loudly, and he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to eat his breakfast. Even though Potter's pantry turned out to be almost as empty as Draco's own, there were some eggs and a small lump of cheese of which Draco decided to make a simple omelette. He worked quickly, preparing the ingredients with his wand, and soon, the pleasant smell of cooking filled the kitchen.

"Making yourself comfortable, I see." Draco turned around, and was relieved to see that Potter was properly dressed. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he seemed to have left his glasses behind. He gave Draco a tentative smile.

"Mind making me one as well? We left the pizza at your place…"

Draco simply nodded, and Potter sat down at the table, waiting. Neither of them spoke before Draco had served them both a smoking hot omelette.

"This wasn't really what I had in mind when I said 'dinner'" Potter said as Draco seated himself across the table. "I was about to suggest that we'd order chinese or something like that."

"Nobody's making you eat this, Potter" Draco snapped.

"No… no, that's not what I meant" Potter said hurriedly. "It's nice of you to cook… it's just really unexpected."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Draco started to wish he hadn't let Potter talk him into this. Surely, facing all of those journalists couldn't be that horrible? Maybe he could apparate there right away, to get it over with? Potter probably wouldn't mind either – he must've realised what an awful idea this had been.

"You're really annoying, you know that?" It was Potter who broke the silence. "I mean, really annoying."

"One of my many talents, Potter. Your point?"

"You really get under my skin" Potter continued, frowning. "I don't know why I let you affect me like that, but you just do."

Draco didn't know what to make out of this, so he just sat there in silence, waiting for Potter to continue.

"After the war… it was pretty obvious what my future would look like. I became an Auror - that was an appropriate job for a big hero like me, of course. And I married Ginny, because I thought I might love her, and it was convenient enough. Above all, it was expected. In time, I started to realise that I only did what other people expected of me. Eventually, I got tired of it."

Draco still didn't know what to say – why would Potter tell him this, of all people?

"You don't expect anything from me" Potter said simply, answering Draco's unspoken question. "I like that. Even though you obviously are the biggest prat to ever walk on the face of the earth."

"But what do you need me for?" Draco objected. "What about your precious Weasley? Or Granger? I can't imagine you having trouble living up to their expectations."

Potter's face darkened.

"We're not exactly on speaking terms" he said grimly.

This puzzled Draco. The infamous trio had been practically inseperable during their years at Hogwarts – what kind of argument could possibly have changed that?

"I'm not sure I follow you" Draco said slowly. "Of course they're speaking to you. You're Harry Potter, for crying out loud."

Potter snorted.

"Well, being Harry Potter is not everything it's cracked up to be" he said darkly, and then fell silent.

"I'm still not sure I understand where you're going with this."

"I'm not sure myself" Potter said slowly. "Maybe… I think I'm asking if you want to be friends. Or something."

"Friends?" Draco said sceptically.

"Yeah. Friends." Potter's gaze bore into Draco's own, and he stretched out his hand.

For a moment, Draco almost felt like he was eleven years old again, standing with his hand outstretched towards a skinny little boy with black hair and round glasses that seemed too big for his face. Only now, Potter was offering Draco his hand, asking for Draco's friendship, rather than the other way around.

"This probably isn't the best way to make nice with Weasley and Granger, you know" Draco said finally, avoiding to look at Potter's hand.

"Probably not" Potter agreed. "But what's the point of trying to please them anyway? This is about what I want."

"And you want me?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows, allowing himself to smirk.
Potter blushed a little, but collected himself quickly.

"I want to be friends" he repeated. "Come on, my arm is starting to go numb. How about it?"

Draco sighed. What did he have to lose, anyway? Besides, this could get interesting – provided he didn't strangle Potter out from pure frustration, of course. He slowly closed his own hand around Potter's, meeting the other mans gaze.

"You know this is a horrible idea, right?"

Potter gave him a half-smile as Draco released his hand.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy."