A/N: Hi guys! An update - finally! Sorry it took some time, but the holidays got in the way, so to speak. As always, I don't own anything. Not even the Toblerone Mountain, because I didn't get it for Christmas this year EITHER. Dang it.
I would really like to thank my beta gbheart, because she's great. I would also like to thank all of you who gave me reviews for christmas - they were amazing! You're amazing people for taking some of your time to write me a review. I probably wouldn't continue writing if you didn't.
Oh well, anyway. Warnings? Er, neighbours that are way too interested in other people's sexlives. Bad language. And wanking. Yes, let's not forget the wanking. I really need to stop talking right now, so: Enjoy!
CHAPTER 3
DPOV
On the other side of the door stood a small group of four people: two men and two women. They smiled broadly at him, as he swung the door open.
"Hello," Draco said and was thankful for his formal upbringing. At least he knew how to handle himself when meeting new people.
"Hello, new neighbour," said a dark-skinned man with a deep voice. He reminded Draco somewhat of Blaise, except for the broad shoulders and the short-trimmed hair. He had his arm around a very willowy woman, whose chestnut curls were pushed back from her face into a defiant ponytail. "I'm Jordan Cunliffe, and this is my wife, Zefira." The dark-skinned man, Jordan, then gestured towards the other man and woman, who were obviously another couple. "And this is–"
"Leonard and Shastin Hatch," the other woman cut in with a smile. She was slightly taller than her husband, but Draco had a feeling her extremely high heels had something to do with that. She was beautiful, he thought, with dark-brown eyes and thick, golden waves of hair. Her skin was even paler than Draco's, and a sharp contrast to her husband's olive skin and dark hair.
"Draco Malfoy," he presented himself and shook each of their hands in turn.
"So you're the newest addition to our Team of Death and Injuries?" Jordan flashed a row of brilliant white teeth, his words causing Leonard and Shastin to laugh, but his wife shot him warning look.
"No," Draco answered shrugged slightly, and then said the words he never thought would ever pass his lips. "Harry, my husband, is here somewhere, but I don't know where he went."
He scrutinized their faces, looking for signs of disapproval or even disgust, but all he could see was flashes of surprise before they tried to regain their composures again.
Before either of them could say anything, a strong arm came to rest around his waist, and the heat from another body made him relax, even though Draco had not been aware that he was even tense.
"I'm the husband," Potter's soft voice said next to him and leaned forward to shake hands with their new neighbours, who still looked as if they were trying to collect themselves.
Then Leonard started laughing, for no reason at all, it seemed.
"I'm sorry," he said and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. "You must think that we are narrow-minded people, but we are just surprised, that's all."
Draco felt Potter's hold on him tighten somewhat, and he leaned into the other man, catching a glimpse of a very relaxed, charming smile on the previously-grumpy face.
Then Shastin started to giggle. Draco had never thought that grown women giggled, but this one definitely did. He was, however, relieved that the English open-mindedness seemed to exist here as well, when it came to sexual preferences at least. Draco knew that the British Muggle world was far more troubled with prejudice of this kind, than the wizarding world he had grown up in. He was glad to find that the American Wizarding Community seemed to be spared from that as well.
"Welcome to the professional atmosphere of the Virginia Wolves," Zefira said apologetically to them as her husband, too, broke down in a fit of laughter.
"I prefer this reaction to many other's I – we – had expected," Draco said with a smile. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? It's a complete mess inside, but I wouldn't want to leave you standing on our porch when we have plenty of room inside."
"Harry can't," Jordan said after regaining himself slightly. "Leo and I thought we would be nice and show him where we practice, and introduce him to his second home. We won't take no for an answer, Harry. Come on."
"I, on the other hand, would love some coffee," Zefira said, still looking quite embarrassed of the reactions of her company.
"I better leave then," Potter said, and Draco felt the other man's hand move up his back to let a thumb graze over the skin just above the collar of his shirt. Draco hoped no one noticed how he shivered involuntarily when Potter placed a chaste peck on his cheek, before releasing him completely.
"I trust you with my wife," Leonard said, as Potter joined him and Jordan. He looked strangely comfortable with the other men, Draco thought, but suspected that the other man's acting skills were much better than he had claimed them to be.
"I trust you to get my husband back in one piece," Draco replied, after the three men and stepped aside to let Shastin and Zefira inside.
"I'm afraid he got recruited to the wrong team for that." Jordan sounded serious, but turned around to flash Draco one of those model-like smiles again.
"I have to apologize for my husband," Zefira said, as soon as Draco had closed the door behind them. "I think his parents forgot to teach him when it's appropriate to tell jokes."
Draco could not help but feel a little bit uneasy with letting Potter leave with two unknown men on his own like that, but he tried to remind himself that Potter had been alone with people far worse than them.
"Stop apologizing all the time," Shastin cut in, as she looked around the big hall, without hiding her curiosity. "I'm sure Draco is capable of telling Jordan's joke from a threat. No one could miss that huge smile of his. It's probably visible from across the Atlantic."
"Actually, no," Draco explained and could not help but smile as he added: "But I'm quite certain I saw something frightening as we crossed the border to America. That must have been it."
The women laughed and Draco gestured them towards the living room. There were no boxes in there, and it was by far the most spectacular room in the house.
"Would you like a tour or just coffee?" he asked them, as they entered the impressive room. Draco was fascinated with how the sunrays on the lake created danced reflections over the walls and ceiling. He had always awoken too late to notice before.
"A tour, definitely," Shastin nodded, as she looked around the room with wide eyes, clearly impressed. "Who did you hire for this? The table is incredible."
"It's all incredible," Zefira added, her hand touching the smooth fabric of the sofas, as she made her way over to the dinner table. "But the table is extraordinary."
"I think it's my personal favourite," Draco said truthfully, as he observed the table and how the rising sun seemed to catch the glass surface in a quite remarkable way. Then he proceeded to show them the kitchen, where Poppy stood on a stool, scrubbing fiercely at the stove even though it looked spotless. She kept curtsying for them until they left the room, and Draco pointed out the downstairs bathroom and guest room, which he had not discovered himself until last night, while refurnishing.
"As I said, the house is quite a mess, but we had all our belongings delivered today," he said as an excuse, as they walked upstairs and the piles of boxes came into view.
"By now, I would totally think that was some sort of piece of new age art because I'm already so blown away by this house, that I'd love anything inside it," Shastin laughed and peeked into an open box, as though it was the most natural thing to do when visiting new neighbours.
I'm sorry, Zefira mouthed, but Draco could not help but smile. He was a bit surprised with their overwhelmed behaviour, as if the house really was that beautiful. Perhaps growing up in the Malfoy Manor caused partial blindness, when it came to architectural beauty.
"Everything is so light. I'm a bit jealous," Zefira said out loud and looked around, as if she tried to take it all in.
"A bit? I feel like switching husbands with you, Draco!" Shastin found the door to the master bedroom, as Zefira walked into the guest room where Harry had been sleeping. He felt like saying that he would gladly switch husbands with her too, but kept his mouth shut.
He wondered if they always were this forward. Not that he minded, because they made his job so much easier, but he was surprised by how easily they made contact and conversation. He had a hard time believing that either of them could be the person behind the accidents, but he knew far too well that the person responsible was the one you least expected, more often than not.
"Zefira, come look at the bedroom – I can see our houses from here!" Shastin called, probably poking through their stuff, Draco suspected.
"I thought this was the bedroom," Zefira said thoughtfully as she exited the guest room. A few strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail and fell into her big eyes. Shastin's unabashed curiosity seemed to have caught her too, as Draco noticed a photo of Potter and him in her hand.
"Actually, Harry sleeps in that room and I sleep in the other," he explained and immediately heard how wrong it sounded. Happy couples did not sleep in separate bedrooms. Of course not. He noticed the change in her face so clearly, even though she tried to remain impassive; it was as if she was surprised but somehow had some sort of suspicion confirmed.
"But why?" Shastin asked, her face not at all able to hide her surprise.
Because we're only pretend-married and actually despise each other.
"I had a bit of a cold when we left England," Draco lied quickly. "And Harry was afraid that he would miss out on practice and games if he caught it, so he suggested that he'd sleep in the guest room until I was feeling better."
"That is so sweet," Shastin gushed, and Draco was rewarded with an agreeing nod from Zefira. He, on the other hand, silently wondered when it had become so easy to impress others with simple compassion.
"When I'm sick, Leo just claims our bedroom to himself and expects me to sleep in our guest room, like I'm not the one in need of extra comfort when I'm sick." Shastin shook her head, as if she was appalled by her own husband's rudeness, as the two women went back in the master bedroom again. Draco decided to follow them this time.
They were looking out of the window and pointing towards the other side of the lake. The surrounding houses were a collection of all shapes and colours. Some with an extra floor that most certainly was held in place with a constructing charm. Others were less spectacular and more tasteful, painted in more timid colours and perfectly symmetrical.
"This is great," Shastin smiled. "If I used a magnifying spell, I could probably see into your bedroom from mine, Draco. Look, our house is the blue one."
The casual tone in Shastin's voice told him that it was not impossible that she actually used a magnifying spell. Her house was big and very blue, almost as if the sunrays enhanced the colour multiple times. It looked like an interesting mix between a modern house and a small castle, as towers decorated the corners.
"Jordan and I live in the one to the right," Zefira explained and pointed vaguely towards a slightly smaller, yet more tasteful, yellow house. Draco liked it better.
"I'll have to remember to close the curtains," he said dryly and was instantly rewarded with Shastin's giggle and a slightly embarrassed smile from Zefira.
"Unless you like an audience," Shastin pointed out, causing Zefira to bury her face in her hands, muttering something that sounded very much like: "I can't believe you just said that."
"What?" Shastin asked, trying her best to look offended, as she made a bad attempt to scowl. She then turned towards Draco with a huge smile and said: "Zefira thinks I'm too outspoken."
"I can't imagine why," he answered dryly, and Zefira made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh concealed into a cough.
He watched the two women, as they picked up the framed photos of Potter and him. He felt as if they were Aurors searching the house.
"I demand to get the name of your designer, Draco," Shastin said, as she inspected the bathroom. Her voice echoed slightly against the tiles. Zefira nodded in agreement, as she stepped over a box containing more of Draco's shoes, making her way back into the room from the closet.
"I am, actually," he answered and hoped he came off as believable. He was afraid that they would laugh in his face and ask for the real designer, but Zefira looked only surprised. Shastin stuck her head out the door to the bathroom a few seconds later, looking confused.
"Sorry," she said with her hair half-covering her face. "I got so caught up in your flushing mechanism that I didn't catch the name."
"Draco is the designer," Zefira clarified, as she seemed to have regained herself.
"Really?" Shastin asked, her eyes widening slightly.
"Yes," Draco nodded. "That's how Harry and I met, actually."
Shastin made a squealing noise that made Draco want to roll his eyes.
"Hearing stories how other people met is her hobby," Zefira said wryly and shook her head, as if she was amazed by this, then she smiled quickly at Draco and added: "I want to hear it too, of course, but preferably over a cup of coffee."
"Coffee it is," he agreed and led them downstairs, secretly thankful that he seemed to have made a believable impression so far.
"I adore this picture of you and Harry," Shastin said and nodded towards the photograph above the fireplace.
Draco smiled quickly at her, before turning his gaze to the picture. The colours were fantastic, as was the nature around them, but what Draco found most fascinating was how completely relaxed and at ease Potter looked. As always, the man managed to look extremely handsome without seeming to be aware of this himself.
"It's my favourite," he answered honestly, pushing away the feeling of Potter's chaste kiss on his cheek just a while ago.
Always stepping up to a challenge, he thought bitterly. Bloody Gryffindors.
Draco had to ask Poppy to make coffee for their guests, since he did not drink coffee himself. The House-Elf seemed overjoyed by the fact that Draco needed her for something else other than cleaning their already spotless kitchen.
"Spill!" Shastin demanded, as soon as three steaming cups were placed in front of them at the coffee table. Draco's, however, contained his green, organic tea.
"I'm not sure what to tell you," he answered evasively and leaned back against the backrest of the couch. He really wished that Potter had been here to help him come up with a more detailed story. He would be taking a risk if he made up a something on his own, if the Quidditch players asked Potter the very same question and they told completely different stories.
"Everything." Shastin was blowing on her coffee, but her doe-eyes were concentrated on Draco, as if she was afraid to miss out on something important. Zefira did not seem quite as fixated, as she stroked the fabric of the armrest and looked as though she was trying to determine what material it was.
Draco took a deep breath and prayed to higher powers that Potter would return home soon. Not that he missed the other man, but because he surely could do with some support, even if it was from the most obnoxious person Draco knew.
"Well, Harry and I knew each other back in school," he started, but got distracted by Shastin's squeal and how she wrinkled her nose, like he was a very small, fluffy puppy and not a grown man. "We hated each other," he added coldly and felt satisfied as the look on her face was successively wiped off.
"Why? Harry is such a nice man!" Shastin said accusingly and scowled at him, as though she was defending a friend.
"You've met him for three seconds," Zefira sighed, seemingly fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"I'm good at reading people," the blonde woman shrugged and turned her gaze to Draco again, who definitely disagreed with her. "Continue!"
"How do your friends put up with you ordering them around?" He shook his head in amazement and sipped his tea.
Shastin only smirked, clearly not as offended as Draco would have been if someone had asked him the same question.
"We don't," Zefira informed drily.
"We're not here to be mean to me. We're here because we want to know how you and Harry met," Shastin smiled, looking unconcerned by her friend's dry tone.
"Fine." Draco waved his hand dismissively and glanced quickly at the photograph above the fireplace. "As I said, Harry and I were not very fond of each other in school."
"Why?" Shastin asked again.
Because he's a self-righteous bastard. Because he didn't want to be my friend. Because he made my life miserable. Because he was the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Because he always beat me in everything.
"We got off on the wrong foot," he said after a moment of hesitation and tried not to think of all the times Potter had made his life a living hell. "We were in different groups that didn't particularly like each other. Anyway, when we left school, Harry got into Quidditch and moved away, while I stayed in London and initiated my career in interior designing. We didn't see each other for years."
True, Draco's subconscious agreed.
"I forgot about him and our differences back in school."
Not true. Every time Draco had seen the other man in the paper, irritation had started prickling under his skin.
"And then Harry got injured and moved back to London to get some time away from the pitch and a chance to heal properly. I was quite surprised when I received an owl from him, asking me to help him out with his new apartment." The words came strangely easy to him, as if they were not at all the far stretch from the truth that Draco knew them to be. It sounded quite believable to his ears, and the women sitting on the sofa opposite of him seemed caught up in the story. Their cups stood abandoned and forgotten, on the coffee table.
"I was a bit hesitant at first because I wasn't sure whether he had put everything behind him, like I had managed to do."
Draco mentally laughed at this.
"But I was too curious to let it go, and I needed a new project, so I accepted his offer. When we met up at his apartment, I was surprised, to say the least. He didn't look anything like I remembered."
That was, at least, true. Draco recalled that day in Shacklebolt's office and his own surprise, when he had seen Potter again.
"You're so shallow," Shastin sniggered and kicked her shoes off before pulling her legs up under her.
"You would be too, if Leo looked like Harry," Zefira said innocently, but smiled as her eyes connected with Draco's.
"Don't you say things like that about my husband," Shastin chided, but the corners of her mouth twitched in contradiction to her words.
"You do it all the time," Zefira pointed out and took her cup demonstratively.
"That's what I get for putting up with his snoring." Shastin muttered, but her smile quickly returned, as she moved her gaze to Draco. "Go on!"
"So bossy," he muttered and shook his head, but as she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him, he quickly added: "Alright! As I said, he didn't look anything like how I remembered him. I guess Quidditch was good for him. We had a quite good time, as I worked on his apartment and then, after a few weeks with him tormenting me by walking around without a shirt on, it turned into something more."
Draco felt a little warm just by talking about this, and it had not even happened. He could clearly picture Potter walking around with no shirt, however.
"What happened? We want details!" Shastin moved closer to the edge of the couch, and Zefira put her cup back down while correcting:
"You want details."
"Fine, I want details."
Draco did not exactly feel like making up details about Potter and him having sex in an apartment in the middle of a remodelling process, but he had walked right into this on his own. He started to wonder if something had gone wrong with the heating system in the house, because it felt like the temperature was rising.
"Harry will have my head for this," he muttered, knowing that Potter probably would, when he heard about what Draco had said about how they met. "To keep it short, we were painting his living room, and we were both covered in paint, because Harry thought a paint war was a good idea, and then we had sex."
"You fucked covered in paint?" Shastin looked as if Christmas had come early, this year.
Draco rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach as his mind betrayed him, creating vivid pictures of Potter in barely any clothes and covered in paint. He hoped that they did not noticed how his breath became shallower, or how he suddenly felt way too warm in his linen shirt.
It had been too long since he had had sex. Clearly.
"Yes, Shastin," he said instead and hoped that he sounded much more unaffected than he was. "We fucked covered in paint."
"It sounds so dirty with your accent," she giggled, and Zefira looked a little embarrassed.
"She doesn't have a filter," the other woman explained, and looked as if she wanted to lock the other woman in a closet for a while.
"You don't say," Draco replied dryly and hoped that his Malfoy facade was doing its job.
"We're having a dinner party at our place on Saturday, two weeks from now," Zefira said, clearly trying to change the subject. "You and Harry should come and meet the others. It's for all the players and their partners."
"That sounds lovely," Draco nodded with a smile. A dinner party would be the perfect opportunity to come off as the perfect couple. "I'll just have to talk to Harry, but I'm sure he would love to come as well."
"Perfect." Zefira rewarded him with a wide smile and looked as if she genuinely meant it. Draco hoped that she did. He quite enjoyed the company of both women, no matter how filter-less, or forward, they were. It was not like there was a big supply of people willing to associate with him, after all. "I think Shastin and I should let you return to unpacking your things now. I'm sure Harry will be back shortly."
Shastin quickly put her shoes back on and got to her feet, as Zefira rose from the sofa. Draco followed them to the door to see them off and was a bit surprised by the friendly hugs he received, instead of a wave or the expected handshake.
"Remember to close the curtains, if you feel the urge to paint again!" Shastin called over her shoulder, giggling of course, as she hurried down the porch staircase. Zefira hushed her loudly, swatting the blonde woman on the arm with the back of her hand.
Definitely no filter, he decided and closed the door after them. With a sigh, he leaned against the cool wood and closed his eyes. His breath hitched as pictures of a shirtless Potter covered in paint came to mind, as clear as if they were real memories and not something he had made up five minutes ago.
Draco shook his head violently and pushed the images away, but they came seeping back to mind, when he stood in the shower, a short while later, trying to cool his body heat down a few hundred degrees with ice-cold water. With a groan, he gave in, thinking that Potter would never know that this would be the first and last time that he would ever think of the other man in that way. It had nothing to do with Potter's ridiculously good looks, but merely the fact that Draco had not had sex in forever.
The pictures became clearer, as he slipped his hand down his chest, grasping his hardening cock, just as pictures of Potter laying on a hardwood floor with Draco's hands smearing white paint over his pectorals came to mind.
Draco groaned, as the Potter in his mind did the same, his hand movements quickening as his mind displayed clear pictures of Draco burying himself inside the other man, who arched his back, mouth slacking open. Their bodies slid together over and over, paint spreading out over their skin with their movements.
He came hard, just as the Potter in his mind opened his eyes and emptied himself over his paint-covered stomach.
"Fuck," Draco breathed and leaned against the cold tiles in the shower, his legs slightly unsteady. He could not help but feel guilty over the fact that he had just wanked himself to release thinking about Potter covered in paint. He would not be able to look at the other man in the eye ever again.
Still shaking slightly, he grabbed the towel from its hanger and started drying himself, as if he could get the stupid images off his mind as easy as he could dry the water off his body. He felt as if he was on a good way to succeeding, when he heard the door slam downstairs.
"Draco?" Potter's voice called, and Draco's breath got stuck in his throat again.
"I'm condemned," he groaned to himself, as he buried his face in his hands.
xXx
HPOV
Harry heard the sound from the doorbell, just as he had read the first two paragraphs of chapter nine in Ten ways to Make Your Broom Your Best Friend. It had not been of much help so far, but he had not given up yet.
Their belongings had been delivered a short while ago, but Harry had stayed in his room, sulking. Malfoy had made fun of his insecurities, and Harry had reacted just like he would have done in fourth year, and now he was way too proud to admit that he might have been overreacting slightly and to go back down.
A sharp knock on the door told him that Malfoy was heading downstairs to greet their neighbours, and that Harry should join him. He did not want to. Even though he should be mature enough not to feel sorry for himself because of Malfoy's teasing, he definitely was. And scared. It was strange how facing Lord Voldemort a few times in his life did not make him immune to normal stage fright, he thought, and glanced over to the mirror on the wall. His reflection grimaced back at him, as he put the book down on the nightstand, beside a picture of Malfoy and him sitting in a restaurant. Picture-Harry looked perfectly content, as did the always-immaculate picture-Malfoy.
Voices from downstairs brought him out of his thoughts, and he rose quickly from the bed. Malfoy clearly did not believe in his acting skills, but Harry had to prove him wrong. Not only because it was his job now, a commission of trust from Kingsley, but also because it was imprinted in his being that he could never let Malfoy win. Ever.
His hair was its usual unruly mess. He tried to flatten it somewhat with his hands – in vain, of course. There was no time to change clothes, so it would have to do. Hopefully, Malfoy's presence would keep everyone from looking at him.
"Harry, my husband, is here somewhere, but I don't know where he went." Harry heard Malfoy's voice say, as he quickly made his way downstairs. Four people stood on the other side of the door: two men and two women. Harry guessed that they were couples, judging by the men's protective arms around the women's shoulders.
Malfoy had a disarming smile on his lips and looked as if he could not be more comfortable than he was, in the weird situation. The people on the other side of the door were looking stunned, as if Malfoy had hexed them, but clearly it had something to do with the fact that it was two men in the marriage. Perhaps the American Wizarding Community found something like that strange, just like the Muggle World in Britain sometimes did.
Harry mentally slapped himself and tried to ignore the nervous knot in his stomach, as he took the last steps towards Malfoy and snaked his arm around the other man's waist, praying that this was how a real couple would behave.
"I'm the husband," he said and smiled in a way that he hoped was friendly. If Ron had seen him now, he would have been doubled over in a fit of laughter.
The people on the other side of the door were beautiful, Harry thought, and seemed to fit into Malfoy's world of immaculately dressed beings. A tall woman reminded him vaguely of Fleur, except for the more golden tones in her hair and her dark brown eyes. She was one of those women Hermione said had "curves in all the right places," while the woman next to her, with hair that seemed to be almost as defiant as Harry's, was very slender.
The blonde woman was standing next to a South-European-looking man, who came off slightly shorter than her. He shared Madame Maxime's olive skin and chocolate-coloured hair. The other man was dark-skinned and was smiling wider than Harry thought was possible. He was very handsome, Harry thought, and the complete opposite of Malfoy's fair colours.
He leaned forward, still keeping his arm around the man next to him, and shook their hands in turn. They still looked slightly dazed and did not seem capable of giving him their names.
Then the olive-skinned man started laughing, as if Harry had just told an extremely hilarious joke.
"I'm sorry," he said and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. "You must think that we are narrow-minded people, but we are just surprised, that's all."
Harry felt his arm tighten somewhat around Malfoy's waist at this, as a sort of reassurance that they were doing good. He had no idea why the man next to him would care about Harry reassuring him, but it felt better holding him closer. To his surprise, Malfoy leaned against him slightly as the blonde woman started giggling.
"Welcome to the professional atmosphere of the Virginia Wolves," said the slender woman, who seemed to feel responsible for her company's questionable behaviour, as the man on her side burst out laughing as well.
"I prefer this reaction too many other's I – we – had expected," Malfoy said and smiled in a very friendly fashion that Harry had never seen before. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? It's a complete mess inside, but I wouldn't want to leave you standing on our porch, when we have plenty of room inside."
"Harry can't," the dark-skinned man said, and Harry felt a little uneasy over the fact that they knew his name and he had no idea who they were. "Leo and I thought we would be nice and show him where we practice, and introduce him to the rest of the team. We won't take no for an answer, Harry. Come on."
Leaving with two unknown men did not seem as the best idea in this particular situation, but it would seem strange if Harry declined. He suspected that he, as a new member of the Quidditch team, would be rather excited to learn more about them.
"I, on the other hand, would love some coffee," the slender woman said and glared at her husband, in that very subtle way Hermione used to chide Ron without using words.
"I better leave then," Harry said and glanced over at their neighbours. He had to do something that would seem appropriate for a married couple without making it too much. He remembered the way Mr. Weasley always kissed Mrs. Weasley goodbye on the cheek, every morning, before leaving for work. Carefully, he slid his hand up Malfoy's back, feeling his heart race unnaturally fast, despite the lack of excessive movement, and prayed that the other man would not flinch away. He felt the slender muscles beneath the other man's thin cotton shirt and gently caressed the fascinatingly soft skin, just above the collar, as he planted a swift kiss on Malfoy's cheek. The scent from the other man filled his nose completely, before he pulled away.
"I trust you with my wife," said the man Harry assumed was Leo, or else the dark-skinned man had been talking about himself in the third person, to Malfoy, as Harry walked over to the two men. He did his best to look relaxed and tried to ignore the way his heart still pounded behind his ribs. Malfoy's grey eyes met Leo's, as he stepped aside to let the women inside.
"I trust you to get my husband back in one piece," Malfoy replied with that characteristic smirk Harry had seen so many times before.
"I'm afraid he got recruited to the wrong team for that," the dark-skinned man said in a very serious tone, but his eyes were dancing with humour. The door closed behind Malfoy, and Harry turned to walk with the other men, realising that he had no idea where they actually were heading.
"I'm Jordan, by the way," the dark-skinned man said and grinned. "I think I forgot to tell you that before. I'm the Keeper. This is Leonard, but he thinks that's a silly name and demand that we call him Leo. If you want to keep your...," Jordan broke off and looked thoughtful, gazing into nothingness for a few seconds as if he tried to recall something, before looking at Harry again: "Actually, I'm not sure what the threat is, but just do what he says or he gets whiny."
Harry laughed but felt sadness tug his mid-section, as the other man's words could easily have been something Fred or George would say about Ron. He glanced back at his new home and felt slightly uneasy with leaving Malfoy behind with two unknown women. Even though he was certain the other man could handle himself, considering the fact that he had been living in a house full of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort for quite some time, Harry could not help to feel as if he was leaving the other man unprotected.
On the other hand, he needed to make a good impression on his new team, and the men walking on either side of him seemed like a good start.
"Missing your man already?" Leo said with a smirk, as they walked down the cobblestone road, passing a few houses on either side of it.
"We just got married," Harry answered with a shrug and hoped that it explained more to the other men than what it did to him.
"Ah," Leo nodded insightfully. "Hard time keeping your hands off each other and all that? Been there. A few years ago, though, but Shastin is something special."
"Uhuh," Jordan agreed and leaned closer to Harry only, to add in a stage whisper: "Asylum-special."
"Shut up." A badly aimed hex came flying, and Harry had to fight his reflexes not to draw his wand and hide behind the nearest tree for cover. They were just playing around, he told himself, just like the Weasleys always did.
"So what position do you have on the team?" he asked instead, to try to steer the conversation to Quidditch.
"Chaser," the man said stuck his hand in his pockets as they kept on walking. "We thought we would welcome you to the team and all, considering Burke's death and everything that happened afterwards. We don't have the best reputation with all that's happened, but we're cool."
"Thanks." Harry smiled as casually as he could, but he still felt uneasy. "How do we get to the pitch?"
"That's the handy thing with living in a wizarding village, Harry," Jordan said and flung an arm around his shoulders, acting like he was confiding in him. "We never have to hide. There's a nifty little passage for inhabitants, just around the corner in Zefira's, my wife's, café."
"That's fantastic," Harry said honestly. He had never lived in a wizarding village before, but visiting Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade gave him an idea what it would be like. They walked pass a few shops that reminded him vaguely of The Burrow, with a couple of extra floors that looked like they could not possibly been built without magic. The shop owners were carrying out boxes of different articles, preparing to open for business.
As they turned the corner, a bright sign declared: Zefira's Coffee & Cream, in a large red print.
"Coffee & Cream refers to actual coffee & cream, but also to her and I," Jordan explained with a brilliant smile.
"Endearing, isn't it?" Leo snorted and effectively wiped the smile off the other man's face.
"Yes," Harry agreed and fought to keep his face straight, but he suspected that he was failing. "I think my heart just melted."
"So much for letting my team use my passage without asking for anything in return," Jordan muttered and tapped the glass door with his wand three times, with a short pause between each tap.
"Dude, we have to hang out with you," Leo said, as if this was definitely something in return, no matter what Jordan claimed.
"The only reason I am not locking you in a closet right now, and leaving you there to starve to death, is because I doubt anyone would be willing to take your spot, if another member of our team happened to die, and because my wife says I'm not allowed to."
Harry sobered quickly from his entertained state at this, just as the three of them entered the small shop and closed the door behind them. There was an old-fashioned cash register and shelves with hundreds of jars, containing what smelled like coffee. A handful of round, mismatching tables stood around the rest of the room, and a big mullioned window covered most of the right wall.
"What do you think?" Jordan asked, as if Harry's quick intake of the place was that obvious.
"It's fantastic." And it was. There was that instant feeling of belonging here, as it had been for Harry the first time he had visited Diagon Alley. He was, however, no matter how much he liked the shop, slightly alarmed by the fact that Jordan had joked about a member of their team dying twice already. It had not been that long since it had happened, and Harry had thought that it would be a sensitive subject, and definitely not something they joked about.
"The passage is this way," Leo pointed towards a small door behind the cash register, almost hidden among all the coffee jars.
"Aren't you worried about his death? Burke was it?" Harry asked, as he deliberately fell a couple of steps behind the other men, as they approached the small door.
"Of course we are worried," Jordan nodded and rested his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know what you have heard, but Burke was only with us for two games, and he was quite an ass, to put it nicely."
Harry suddenly found himself feeling extremely vigilant towards the two men and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, as if in a casual manner, but made sure that his wand was ready to be drawn if necessary.
"It's scary," Leo said, and met Harry's gaze with a sincere expression on his face – eyes unguarded. "We were all there when he died. Have you heard what happened?"
"Not really, I just know that he died in an accident." Harry shrugged in an attempt to look mildly interested.
"Maybe we should have a cup of coffee before we leave," Jordan suggested, and let go of the doorknob, only to thread the handles of three cups on his fingers.
"Sounds like a good idea," Leo agreed and gestured to Harry to sit down at the nearest table, before pulling a third chair from another, with a screeching sound. "It's only fair that you get the whole story, as much as we know, before you start playing with us."
A few minutes later, Harry was sitting at the slightly unsteady table, opposite of the two men who seemed to enjoy their coffee immensely
"Colombian?" Leo asked, as he sniffed at the steaming cup.
"Yes, a new roast we got this weekend," Jordan confirmed, while sipping on his own and added, turned towards Harry: "You have to think that we completely lost it, but as we said, Burke was a kind of an ass. The Seeker we had before him had to quit, because his wife got a job out of state, and the team there was willing to take him. When Burke arrived, all he did was pointing out all the mistakes in our play and kept fiddling with his damn broom. He was arrogant and thought that we should be thrilled to have him on our team. He wasn't a bad player, but he was self-absorbed. The first game we played, we won. Miraculously, I might add."
"Yeah, we played against the Fitchburg Finches and scored a hell of a lot of goals. That was my best match that season. We were in the lead with 210 versus their 50, a huge lead, and then the snitch showed up. Burke didn't catch it. In fact, he was on the other side of the bloody pitch, waving to the cameras, as the Finches' Seeker caught it easily." Leo shook his head in disbelief.
"We were lucky that we won with ten points, Harry, and then that idiot had the guts to tell us that our game wasn't living up to his expectations. Can you believe that? We scored twenty-one, twenty-one, fucking goals and he couldn't even catch the snitch, but apparently it was our entire fault. And his broom's." Jordan scowled, as if the memory still upset him.
"Yeah, he kept talking about that his broom wasn't fast enough and that he couldn't play decently because it was too slow, or whatever," Leo added, and nodded as if he confirmed his own memory. "The next game, we were having a quite rough match against the Stonewall Stormers: we were neck and neck, leading with twenty points at the most, before being behind by ten the next second. I remember thinking that it was all up to him to catch the snitch, because we would never be able to score enough goals to secure our lead with a hundred and sixty points."
"And the next thing that happens is Burke crashing into a stand, injuring a few of the audience because his speed was insane. Apparently, a slow broom wasn't his problem, at the end of the day." Jordan looked up from his cup, and it seemed to Harry as if they were sincere, but he had been around long enough to be careful. "His wife and kid still live here. The kid seems okay, but I don't think Burke spent much time with him. His wife seems crushed, though. Anyway, the Seeker that played for us after that, Faulton, got injured by a hex and no one knows how or why. And since then, a stand has collapsed during a game, some of our opponents have almost been crushed by a goal-ring falling down in the middle of a game. A number of weird things that we can't explain, but all of this is giving us a bad reputation."
"Come on. We can show you his locker, if you want to see what we mean when we say that he was self-absorbed." Leo stood up and inclined his head towards the door. "We just thought you should know, Harry, because it's not fair for you to start playing for our team without knowing all that's happened."
For now, they looked as innocent as any other member of the team or anyone close to Burke, Harry thought. He could perhaps see the Weasley twins pull a few jokes over something like this before the war, when death wasn't their everyday life, and when they both were still alive. It would, perhaps, have been their way of coping. Just as it could be Jordan's and Leo's only way to tackle what had happened around them, the past year.
"I really appreciate you telling me all of this," he said honestly, and got to his feet as Jordan did the same. He followed the two men to the small door once more, not feeling nearly as uncertain and wary as he had done, a short while ago.
"You're not quitting, are you? I think my wife will like your husband," Jordan asked with a huge grin.
Harry suspected that there was a serious question behind that joking exterior.
"Nah," he shook his head. "It's been a while since I played, due to my injury, and your team-"
"Our team," Leo corrected.
"Yeah, our team was nice enough to offer me the spot without actually seeing me play. Plus, I doubt that Draco would approve of another move anytime soon." And Kingsley Shacklebolt would probably not appreciate it either.
xXx
The passage was fascinatingly simple and reminded Harry of running through the wall at platform 9¾, except that all he had to do this time was walking through an open door. Jordan and Leo had then moved on to showing him the pitch, which made Harry remember the games he had played back at Hogwarts and the adrenaline rush he used to get from catching a glimpse of the snitch before the other team's Seeker had. It had been so long. Too long.
They had showed him their locker room, which did not smell as bad as the ones back at Hogwarts. The showers were much nicer, too. It was a room too big for only seven players, and it had at least five lockers more than needed, but Harry remembered them mentioning Burke's locker, which sounded to him as if it was still left untouched.
"This is your gear," Jordan said and held up a pigeon-blue and silver uniform, with a huge wolf's head in silver on the chest. The protection was the custom black leather. Harry quite liked the colours, but he had a feeling they would have suited Malfoy better.
"Looks great," he said with a smile and accepted the clothing from the other man. "Where should I put it?"
"Preferably in your locker." Leo tapped his knuckles against the third from the right and tossed a key to Harry, who was thankful that his Seeker-reflexes were still somewhat intact, as he reached out to catch it without hesitation.
"Nice catch." Jordan bumped his shoulder in appreciation, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable over the compliment. He had never been good with positive feedback. To hide his embarrassment, he concentrated on unlocking his locker instead. It was empty, as expected, and his uniform looked slightly lonely inside it.
"You can always put a picture or two of Draco on the inside of the door. No nude ones though, that's team rules." Leo started laughing, as Harry could not help but blush at this. Nude pictures of Malfoy was definitely not happening – ever – but he could not exactly tell them that.
"I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled instead, and rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to look unaffected, even though his face was most likely Gryffindor-scarlet by now.
"We'll show you what we were talking about earlier," Jordan said and grew serious almost instantly. "About Burke, I mean."
Leo retrieved a second key from the back pocket of his trousers, and unlocked the door to the locker farthest to the left. It was covered in photographs of a mousy-haired, quite good-looking man, who seemed to pose in every photo in a very similar manner to Lockhart's behaviour during Harry's second year. It had to be hundreds of photos, Harry thought, as he walked closer to get a better look, and they covered the whole inside of the locker. A broom and a uniform much alike the one Harry had just received were in there, too, as were a bunch of photos laying at the bottom.
"He had started putting them on the outside, too," Jordan explained, as if he had seen Harry look at them. "Rules say that it isn't allowed, and so Burke had to take them down. He refused, so Harrigan, our captain, took them down for him and put them there. I think he was quite sick of Burke's behaviour, too, to be honest."
"Didn't you say that he had a wife and kid?" Harry asked as he inspected the photos more closely, but they all seemed to portray Burke in different situations.
"Yeah," Leo confirmed. "But, apparently, they weren't important enough to join him in his little collage here."
"That's weird," Harry said, thinking out loud, as he remembered Wood's locker when they had practiced a few weeks ago. There had been pictures of some of the retired Quidditch players he admired in their best moments, his fiancée and his parents. None of himself, except for the team photo, but that was nothing like this.
"Weird is quite the understatement, when it comes to Burke," Leo snorted and closed the locker again.
"So it seems," Harry agreed, and knew that he had to discuss this with Malfoy, when he was back at the house.
"Come on," Jordan said where he stood at the door to the locker-room. "I need to get back to my wife."
xXx
Harry met the two women, just as he walked up the cobblestone road towards his home.
"Harry!" Shastin greeted with a huge smile, as if they had know each other for longer than the few minutes they had spoken, earlier on. It was something in her expression that made Harry feel as if he should be embarrassed.
"Hi," he said instead and nodded with a smile. "I hope Draco is still intact and breathing?"
"Of course," Shastin laughed, but Zefira's nod was far more reassuring.
"I just told Draco that I would be thrilled, if you two would like to come to our dinner party," the slender woman said and stopped in front of him. "I gave him the details, but I just thought you should know, in case my husband forgot to invite you."
"He did," Harry smiled and nodded. Inwardly, he groaned. He had a feeling that there would be a lot of people at the dinner party. "That sounds great. Thanks for the invitation."
"Of course! Draco is fantastic, and I'm sure you're just as good." Shastin flashed a brilliant row of teeth.
Harry felt his face go red and felt even more uncomfortable, as the blonde woman started giggling, just as she had done this morning. He had a hard time picturing why they would find Malfoy fantastic in any way. He also had a hard time understanding how she was able to walk on cobblestones in those shoes, but he did not ask her for either explanation.
"Draco is probably waiting for you," Zefira said, as if she saw how embarrassed he was and wanted to give him an excuse to escape Shastin's attention.
"I better get going then." He gave her a quick, grateful smile and waved at them, as he hurried the last distance home. He passed a few children playing in a small park, on the way. One of them was riding a small broom that only levitated enough for the girl's toes to barely touch the grass. They did not even notice him, clearly consumed in their play.
He did not realise that he was smiling slightl,y until he was walking up the porch staircase and caught his reflection in the window beside the front door. The house was quiet, as he closed the door behind him. It was a comfortable quiet, he thought.
"Draco?" he called, in case someone else was still visiting.
"Upstairs," came the distant reply, and Harry quickly made his way up to the next floor, afraid that he would forget something he needed to tell Malfoy, if he did not hurry.
He quickly glanced into Malfoy's study as he passed it, but as he found it empty, he continued to the master bedroom. The door was cracked open a fraction, Harry noticed, as he walked closer, and he hesitated for a few moments before walking inside. Malfoy was indeed in his bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, facing the window with his back against Harry and no shirt on. Judging by the wet hair, he had just gotten out of the shower.
Harry tried desperately to remember what he had to say, but it was in vain. He stared at the smooth-looking skin that was marred by scars that Harry was all too familiar with, even though he had never seen them before. Something cold formed in the pit of his stomach and stayed there, even as Malfoy pulled a soft grey, cable-knitted jumper over his head and hid the scars away from Harry's eyes.
The air seemed to find its way down Harry's lungs again, even though he had no idea when he had stopped breathing, as the other man pulled his fingers through the light strands of hair.
"Hey," Harry said, before he could stop himself.
Malfoy turned around quickly and quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Hey?" he repeated. His cheeks looked slightly flushed, Harry thought, and the glint in his eyes did not seem as hard as it used to. But perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him, or the lack of oxygen that made him slightly delusional. Instead of answering, he just shrugged and felt even more stupid than before.
"How was Quidditch?" Malfoy asked, and Harry blinked in surprise.
"It was fine," he said slowly, trying to remember all the things he was supposed to tell the other man, but they seemed to have disappeared from his mind completely. "How was...er, coffee?"
"Fine," Malfoy nodded and rose from the bed. He seemed to hesitate for a few moments, before he opened his mouth again and said: "You'll have to sleep in here, from now on."
Harry felt his eyes widen. "Why? I mean, we can switch, but-"
"With me," Malfoy cut him off and rolled his eyes.
"With you?" Harry repeated, and his heart started stuttering, before it began racing in his chest. It had been his lifeline to be able to hide away from the other man when he was too annoying, even if there was nothing more than a corridor between them; it had been an appreciated escape for Harry.
"Yes." The other man nodded and picked up a damp towel that lay over the back of a chair. "We're supposed to be the perfect couple. We can't sleep in separate bedrooms."
"It wasn't my idea to sleep separated, from the start," Harry said defensively, and noticed how Malfoy's face seemed to close in front of him. He mentally slapped himself, remembering that they were not in school anymore, and said quickly: "Yeah, all right. I'll go get my stuff."
He turned around in the doorway to go into the opposite room and collect his things. He had never been good with sharing a bed with someone. A true blanket hogger. Sharing with Malfoy felt like something forbidden, but he could not exactly quit the job with that justification.
"Right, before I forget – I had to tell them about the first time we had sex."
Malfoy said it so casually that Harry was sure that he had misheard, but when he spun around to meet the other man's gaze, there was a smirk on his lips. Clearly, Malfoy had said exactly what Harry thought he had.
"But we never had sex," Harry blurted and felt immensely stupid, as the other man's eyebrows shot up and the smirk grew wider. Yes, Harry was stating the obvious – again.
"So glad you told me, Potter," Malfoy said sharply and added extremely slowly, as if Harry was completely dense: "But I'm sure you know that married couples usually have sex?"
"Whatever," Harry snapped and glared at the other man, who seemed to be having the time of his life. He felt slightly panicked, as the thought of Malfoy and him having sex came to mind. He was not very experienced, to begin with, and when it came to sex between two men, he was clueless. "I'm going to make a firecall. I'm using the fireplace in the study."
"It's my study," Malfoy pointed out and frowned, as if he did not like the thought of having Harry in his study, which he did not even use.
"We're married, Malfoy. What's yours is mine, and all that." Harry waved him off and walked quickly down the hall. He needed to talk to Hermione, or just someone else that was not Malfoy.
"If you mess up something in there, you'll have to sleep with one eye open, for the rest of this marriage!" the other man called after him, but Harry thought – and hoped – that it was just an empty threat.
Malfoy's study was, however, organized to such an extent that even Hermione would approve. The folders in the bookcase were organized by colour, as were the pencils on the desk. Harry felt like he was intruding, even though he knew that Malfoy did not actually do any kind of work in here. He had no idea if it was possible to make a firecall to England from America, but he had to try.
A handful of powder in the fireplace later, Harry was lying on his stomach on the floor, begging that he would see the living room in Hermione's and Ron's house, when he opened his eyes again.
"Harry?" a familiar voice said, and he snapped his eyes open. His chest contracted a fraction, as he saw Hermione rise from the couch and hurry towards him. "Harry!"
"Hi," he said and smiled foolishly. She looked worried, and he felt stupid for firecalling her for nothing more serious than this. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," she said breathlessly and kneeled in front of the fireplace. "Ron would have stayed home from work, if you had told us that you were calling."
"That's fine. It was just a whim." He was, honestly, quite relieved that Ron was not home. It would be uncomfortable enough to talk to Hermione about it without his presence.
"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.
"Nothing's wrong really..." he said evasively. Hey, Malfoy told our neighbours that we had sex, and I'm freaking out because I don't know how it works, did not seem as the best way to put it.
"Are you two getting along?" Her voice was softer now, as if the first worry had passed.
"Most of the time." Harry nodded, more to himself than her. "I mean, we try. He's the most annoying person I know, but it's not as bad as it used to be back in school. At least so far."
"Ron is the most annoying person I know," Hermione said with a soft smile. "Perhaps that's the way marriages work."
"Yeah, except for the fact that you and Ron got married because you love each other, and not because you're doing a confidential job for the ministry."
"Fair point, well made." She nodded and laughed. "Have you met your team yet?"
"Only two of them, but they seem all right. I've done some digging, but I can't ask more before I get to know them better, without sounding too suspicious."
"I see. What have you come up with?" She was listening with a new interest, Harry noticed. It was the look she had had on her face back in school, just minutes before she usually declared that she was going to the library. He decided to tell her everything, from the way the other men had joked about the traumatic events to Burke's locker.
"Sounds to me like someone could get tired of him quite fast and do something about it," Hermione said gravelly when Harry finally finished.
"Yeah, except that the two people I met didn't seem like they wanted to. I mean, the whole thing just gets the team a lot of bad reputation and, if another player quit for some reason, I doubt anyone will try out for the spot."
"Have you talked to their wives? Perhaps one of them has grown tired of their man constantly working," she suggested, and Harry noticed how she was scribbling on a parchment, she had found on the coffee table.
"Malfoy has that part covered. Maybe I should talk to him. I don't know how much work he's doing, though. He just told me that he told them about the first time we slept with each other." Harry felt his face burn, but hoped that the flames on her side made it less obvious how uncomfortable he was.
"He's clever, Harry. He knows that he can't just ask them without making some sort of connection. I'm sure they were talking about how the two of you met, or something." Sometimes it was quite annoying that she always was so rational. If it had been Ron hearing this, he would have started freaking out much the same way Harry was, and not trying to explain that telling unknown people about such a private thing as sex was a good idea.
"It's freaking me out," Harry said quietly. This was the reason he had called her, in the first place. Even though he, most of all, wanted to pull his head back from the fireplace and lock himself into his room, which was not even his room anymore because he and Malfoy had to share, he knew that he could not.
"I can tell," she said softly. "Why?"
"Because I don't know anything about it. Between men, I mean." Truth be told, he did not know much about it between a man and a woman, either.
"Why don't you ask Malfoy?" she suggested carefully, and Harry glared at her.
"What makes you think he knows more about it than I do?" he muttered defensively.
"Well, he's gay, right?"
"Yes." Harry sighed and remembered Malfoy's surprise over the fact that Harry had had no idea about his sexuality. Perhaps he really had been clueless, because Hermione seemed to be fully aware of it. "I'm not asking him."
"Harry, you can't afford to be stubborn now. You're there on a job. What if they ask you something and you can't answer? Married people have sex."
"You sound just like him," he muttered. "I'm not asking him. I don't care what you say. I have to find some other way to find out. Say hi to Ron from me."
And then, childish and stubborn as he was, Harry pulled his head out of the fire and rolled over onto his back. It was not Hermione's fault that he had not looked these things up, before he got here, in the first place.
xXx
They were sitting at the dinner table later, that night, as Poppy served them steak. He had avoided Malfoy quite effectively, since his firecall with Hermione, but dinner was unavoidable.
The other man had insisted on wine, claiming that the taste of the meat was empathized by the flavour of the beverage. Harry did not particularly like to drink anything but beer, water or pumpkin juice when eating, but Malfoy had that look on his face again that told him not to question this.
It was not all that bad, Harry thought, as the slightly bitter taste of the wine surely did make the meat taste better, but he preferred cold drinks. They had not said a word to each other for fifteen minutes, and the atmosphere around the table was tense. He tried to understand why, but he could not think of anything that he could have done to upset the other man. Especially not since he had been avoiding him, for the past few hours.
"You called Granger?" Malfoy said finally, without looking up from his plate.
"Yes." Harry nodded and had a feeling that he answered more than just the question.
"What did you talk to her about?" The other man's tone was cool, and he still was not looking at Harry, who felt heat creeping up his neck. Had Malfoy heard everything?
"Just stuff about Burke, the guy that died." Harry tried to sound casual, but his mouth went dry, as the other man finally made eye contact. He was not happy.
"It never occurred to you that perhaps it would be a good thing to enlighten me, as well? Perhaps even before you decided to talk to Granger, whom, I might add, is on the other side of the Atlantic?"
Malfoy did not act very upset, Harry thought, and that was why he was worried. He could not exactly explain that he had meant to tell the other man everything, but had forgotten all about it because he had happened to be shirtless, when Harry had entered the room. He could not really say that the only reason he had called Hermione, to begin with, was because he was so nervous about his inexperience when it came to sex, either.
"I was going to tell you," he said instead, and knew that it sounded like nothing more than a lame excuse.
Malfoy made a sound of disbelief and gave him a hard look.
"I really was," Harry persisted, and put his cutlery down beside his plate. "I was just a bit upset about the...about what you told them, so I forgot. Did you eavesdrop?"
"No, P-...Harry, I didn't eavesdrop." Malfoy sounded offended, and looked around quickly, to see if Poppy had perhaps noticed his almost-slip, but she was nowhere around. "But I know what it was like back in school, and it wasn't exactly hard for me to guess whom you were calling or what you were going to talk about. I'm not stupid."
"I know you're not," Harry said quietly. He had never thought that they day would come when Malfoy made him feel guilty. "As I said, I was a bit upset about what you told them so I just...did what I always do – turned to Hermione."
Malfoy did not look convinced, his features still hard-set.
Harry did not exactly know why he felt like he had to make the other man understand that he truly was regretting his decision not to talk to him first, and that it had been his intention to do so, but before he could stop himself it slipped out: "I'm sorry."
He had a feeling that Malfoy's surprised expression was mirrored in his own face. The other man stared at him for a few, excruciatingly long, moments, his mouth opening a fraction before closing again.
"Did you just say 'I'm sorry' to me?" he said finally, with a voice that sounded more as if he was asking if the sky had just fallen down outside.
"Er," Harry said and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Yes?"
"I think I must write that down somewhere, or I will think that I hallucinated tomorrow." The other man shook his head as if in disbelief, but there was humour dancing in his eyes now.
"Funny," Harry muttered, but relief pushed through his body as he allowed himself to relax against the backrest of the chair.
Malfoy smiled, more to himself than Harry probably, and poured more wine into his glass. Harry caught himself thinking that the other man really had a quite nice smile.
"So, enlighten me." Malfoy waved his hand, as if he had been waiting for Harry to get on with it forever.
"Well, they told me about this Burke guy. He didn't seem very nice. Apparently, he just played with them for a couple of games and the first time they barely won, because they had a huge lead of a hundred and sixty points, but Burke didn't catch the snitch, so they only won by ten points. They told me he had been posing for the photographers instead of looking for it. Afterwards, he blamed them for the whole thing, and that his broom was too slow." Harry felt a bit uneasy under Malfoy's intense look, but he managed to keep the blush off his face.
"Was he enough of an arse to make someone kill him?" the other man asked, as he sipped on his wine.
"I don't think so. Something went wrong during their next game. It was a tough match, and the teams were neck and neck, basically, for the entire game. The next thing that happened was Burke crashing into a stand and died."
"So if the game was so even, it's not likely for anyone on the team to have any time over for sending Burke off into the stands in a death-crash." Malfoy nodded and looked thoughtful.
"Exactly. His death has brought them a lot of problems, too. Their reputation is bad, because there have been accidents since and, if someone else quit, it's not likely anyone will step up to take their spot." Harry felt as if there was something he was missing, but he could not put his finger on it. "He seemed to be quite self-centred, too."
"Self-centred?" Malfoy asked and looked at him with renewed interest. "Why?"
"Because they let me take a look at his locker. It was pretty much wallpapered in photos of himself." Harry looked around for a piece of parchment to write it all down, just like Hermione had done, as Malfoy frowned slightly.
"That might be slightly egotistic, but not necessarily anything important?"
"I wouldn't put too much thought into it, if there hadn't been a few hundred photos and that he apparently tried to put them on the outside of his locker, too. And for the fact that he has a wife and a son, and there wasn't a single photo of either of them." Finally, Harry gave up on finding a piece of parchment and grabbed a napkin instead.
"Yes, that's different. He sounds like quite the narcissist," Malfoy agreed and glanced over at Harry's napkin, where he had now scribbled down the most essential parts. "We have to keep that somewhere no one will find it."
"You have locked drawers in your study," Harry pointed out and pushed the napkin over the table.
"So you've come to terms with it being my study now, have you?" Malfoy smirked and folded the napkin neatly, even though Harry seven years ago would have been furious at this remark, present Harry found himself a bit amused.
"What lengths I go to, to keep my husband happy."
"Yes, you're a real catch," Malfoy agreed dryly and suddenly laughed. "If someone told me back in school, that seven years into the future, I would be married to you and live in America-" He broke off and shook his head in amazement.
"You probably would have hexed them," Harry offered generously.
"Most likely." Malfoy nodded, before filling his glass once more.
Harry raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Trying to pass out on me?" he asked and tried to keep his tone jokingly, afraid that he would ruin their, now, quite nice evening, by upsetting the other man. To his relief, one corner of Malfoy's mouth quirked upwards.
"We're sharing bed tonight, remember? I need to ensure that I fall asleep fast." His tone was quite harsh, but Harry was fairly certain that his eyes were playful.
"I'm sure you're a closeted cuddler," he said dryly, and suddenly remembered his food, which was still stood in front of him.
"You know me too well," Malfoy replied, and raised his glass, as if in a toast.
"I'm your husband, after all." Harry picked up his fork and turned his attention to his food, as the other man seemed to concentrate more on emptying his glass of wine.
A little more than an hour later, they were making their way upstairs. Malfoy slightly unsteadily, since he had downed approximately two thirds of the wine bottle. Harry had deliberately fallen a step behind him, in case the other man lost his balance and fell backwards, down the stairs. Malfoy did not seem to be anywhere close to falling, however, even though he was looking more relaxed than his normal proud posture.
The atmosphere changed almost visibly, as they entered their now-shared bedroom. Suddenly, the big bed seemed a too small for Harry's liking, and he noticed how Malfoy hesitated, as if he, too, realised that they were actually going to share a bed.
"The right side is mine," he said, and turned to Harry with a half-hearted attempt to scowl.
"All right. I'm just going to get my stuff." Harry nodded towards the bedroom across the hall, as he remembered that he had completely forgotten about bringing his belongings here earlier. Malfoy only hummed something in response.
Harry leaned against the inside of the door to the guest room and breathed deeply. It was not such a big deal, honestly, he tried to tell himself. Sharing a bed was not a big thing – people did it all the time. He quickly gathered a few of his things, thinking that he could leave the rest of it for tomorrow, and picked a fresh pair of underwear. Sleeping naked was not really an option, when sharing a bed with Malfoy.
When he returned into the master bedroom, Malfoy was already lying in bed, reading a book. He looked up quickly, when he heard Harry in the doorway, and looked almost as lost as Harry felt. Strangely, this made him feel less ridiculous for being terrified by sharing a bed with another man, considering that even the icy Malfoy-facade had cracked open.
"I'm just going to change," Harry mumbled and motioned towards the bathroom awkwardly. The other man only nodded in response, but Harry could feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as he quickly walked through the room.
He brushed his teeth more thoroughly than he had done in years, as his reflection stared back at him with wide eyes. Harry had never had much of a poker face, but this was ridiculous. He was just going to sleep in the same bed as someone else. It was not a huge deal.
He had hoped that the lights would be out when he re-entered the bedroom, but it was in vain. Malfoy was still reading and, when he looked up from his book, Harry wished he had chosen pyjama bottoms instead. He walked to the bed and slipped under the duvet faster than he thought would have been possible without running. As soon as most of his body was covered beneath the rustling, cool sheets, he instantly felt much better.
"I hope you don't mind me reading," Malfoy said and it was obvious that he did not really care whether Harry would mind or not. So much for going to sleep fast, Harry thought, as he watched the other man turn another page.
"No, I don't mind."
Malfoy seemed absorbed in his book again and did not respond to Harry's words, as though he had not heard them. The soft light from the lamp above the bed's headboard made the pale skin almost glow. He watched how Malfoy's slim, long-fingered hands turned the pages of the book, and how his thumb and forefinger fiddled with the corner of the next page, just moments before he turned it over.
Harry tore his gaze away to look at something else, but it seemed to find its way back almost instantly. Seeing the other man concentrate so hard on something that he seemed to forget that he had company, was a new sensation for Harry. Malfoy looked less guarded, less harsh, less...less Malfoy.
As he realised that he was staring, begging to get caught by the other man, Harry flushed. Then he the quickly removed his glasses, pretending that he was three years old again, thinking that the world would not see him, if he could not see it.
"Good night," he mumbled and moved as close as he could to the edge of his side of the bed, hoping that it was not too obvious that he was trying to create space between them.
"Good night," Malfoy replied softly.
For some reason, Harry had not expected a reply, and he froze for a moment in his movements, before he rolled over on his side with his back to the other man. He closed his eyes tightly, praying that sleep would catch him quickly, because he was afraid that something bad would interrupt their streak of being rather civil to each other, if he stayed awake for too long.
After a few, almost-terrified moments, Harry was able to relax, and started listening to the sounds of the other man turning page after page, in a soothing, even rhythm.
xXx
The first thing Harry became aware of was the stubborn and irritating rays of sun that kept dancing over his eyelids, creating fireworks in the darkness of his closed eyes. The second thing was that he was incredibly warm. The third was the puffs of air that rolled over his bare shoulder in even waves.
The awareness that someone was holding onto his arm tightly rushed down his spine, like a trickle of ice, and his eyes snapped open. For a second, his brain told him that he should get out of there, push away whatever was clinging to him, and run. Then, another small voice said that the war was over and that he had nothing to worry about.
As his reptilian brain succumbed to his less primal instincts, Harry glanced to his side. He should not have been surprised, considering that the options to who the person next to him could be was very limited to only one other person and a House-Elf, but his heart still stopped for a short second, when he noticed the silvery-blonde head resting only inches from his own shoulder.
Sometime during the night, Harry must have moved over on his back and Malfoy, apparently the closeted cuddler Harry had accused him of being, had moved all the way from his side of the bed, to snuggling against Harry's side.
The strangest thing was that the other man almost looked as though he belonged there, holding onto Harry's arm as though they really were married. Malfoy's hands felt cool against his skin, as if his body temperature was several degrees lower than Harry's.
"Malfoy," he said quietly and hoped that the other man would wake up and move away quickly, because even though Harry thought it looked as though Malfoy belonged there, he felt extremely uncomfortable in the situation. But instead of moving away, Malfoy only mumbled something inaudible and snuggled even closer, pressing his face against the curve of Harry's neck.
Oh fuck. The breath caught in his throat, as he felt the other man's lips brush against the fine skin, just where his shoulder and neck connected. Harry could not help but shiver, as though the sudden closeness to another person caused all his nerve endings to panic.
He wanted to wake Malfoy desperately, because he felt as if he was almost violating the other man. He knew, however, that if he did, Malfoy would surely be extremely embarrassed and most likely insufferably rude, for the rest of the week.
Harry looked down on the other man again, and was surprised by the serene expression on his face. Malfoy's lips were gently parted and a glimpse of his even, white teeth caught Harry's eye. The light hair lay over the even paler fabric of the pillow case, like a silver halo. A defiant blonde strand had gotten caught in the long eyelashes that cast soft shadows against Malfoy's cheekbones and, before Harry could stop himself, he had reached out and gently pushed the hair out of the other man's eyes.
As Harry realised what he was doing, he quickly snapped his hand back, his heart racing in his chest. He stared at the other man's face, almost expecting to see Malfoy glare at him and call him a number of rude things, but nothing had changed. Except, or perhaps it was only Harry's eyes playing him a trick, for the corners of Malfoy's mouth curving slightly upward.
Harry closed his eyes hard, for a few moments, and tried to even his breathing and heartbeat, before he relaxed slightly, pretending to be asleep. He felt desperate to get out of the room and stay put, at the same time. Perhaps it had something to do with his urge to protect people, or that he had not been close to another human being for so long.
He lingered on the feeling of the tickling feeling of Malfoy's breaths against his skin, for another moment, before he gently nudged the other man with his elbow. He hoped desperately that Malfoy would think that Harry was still asleep, just to make the situation less awkward for both of them.
It did not work.
Harry nudged again, a little harder this time. This time, Malfoy groaned as though he was irritated with Harry's lack of manners, but he did not seem to wake up. Typically, the idiot was impossible to wake up discretely, Harry thought bitterly, and elbowed the other man, quite hard honestly, in the ribs.
This time, Malfoy woke up. Followed by a long stream of curse words, many very creative ones the other man most likely came up with as he went on. Then, Malfoy grew very still, as though he first now realised that he was clinging onto Harry's arm like a baby koala.
"Fuck," Malfoy breathed and released Harry's arm immediately, before hastily moving away. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he continued, and Harry heard him scramble out of bed and hurry into the bathroom. Only when the door was closed and locked behind the other man, did Harry dare to open his eyes.
The loss of another human's body heat made him feel a little cold, and he tugged the duvet closer around him. He looked at the door for a while, and felt almost left behind, without really knowing why. At least he did not have the other man attached to his arm, and he was thankful for that. Of course he was.
He reached for his glasses and, when he heard water running, sighed, as he let his head fall back against the pillow again, his vision a little clearer now.
It was strange, he thought, how being alone in a foreign land with someone he had spent years hating, sharing a secret no one but they knew, pretending to be in love, somehow made all the hate and resentment fade away more quickly than Harry had thought to be possible. He did not particularly like Malfoy, but being forced to be civil to the other man, had caused him to realise that perhaps it was not so bad, after all.
It took longer than he had expected for Malfoy to get back. The other man finally exited the bathroom with hair that looked as though it had been dried violently with a towel and the skin of his upper body was flushed slightly, as if the water had been a little too hot.
"You're awake," Malfoy said, and froze slightly, when he caught Harry watching him.
"Yeah, just woke," Harry lied and yawned, in a way he hoped looked believable.
"Slept well?" The other man did not seem completely able to hide his relief, as he walked over to the closet and disappeared inside.
"Yeah, you?" Harry could not help but smile smugly, feeling like he knew one of Malfoy's secrets.
"Not really. You snore like a bloody giant. If you keep snoring like that, I'll hex you tonight." Malfoy's tone was harsh, and Harry could easily imagine the scowl on the other man's face.
He resisted the urge to say something about how he would gladly stop snoring, if Malfoy stopped violating his arm. Perhaps he had been a little too optimistic earlier. It was not so bad being stuck in America with Malfoy, as long as the other man kept his mouth shut.
I used to think one day we'd tell the story of us,
How we met and the sparks flew instantly,
People would say, "They're the lucky ones."
Story of Us – Taylor Swift
Chapter end notes: Perhaps Draco should shut up a little more often? Next up is Quidditch practice, gay sex-education, lol, and some more things that I have conveniently forgotten, sorry! Reviews are, as always, deeply loved.