"I was thinking there'd be something of consequence in here," Arthur Weasley said, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose, "but Sirius, great man that he was, was a sodding incompetent at keeping his files organized."

Harry nodded and glanced around the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. It was still odd, even three years later, to think of it as his. This was Sirius's house, Sirius's things.

"So, Harry," Arthur continued, "what much do you know about Regulus?"

"Well," Harry said, sliding his hands into his pockets, "he was killed on Voldemort's orders, and he switched out the lockets."

Arthur seemed to wait for an elaboration. When Harry offered none, he prompted:

"Anything else?"

"He was the younger brother," Harry said, "and according to Sirius, a ginormous prat. I don't know much else."

"Ah," Arthur said, opening a cabinet full of delicate glass figurines and opening one of the drawers. Harry's cabinet. Harry's drawers.

Harry got that feeling again of being cold in a warm room. He wondered if his neurons were getting crossed or something. A shiver ran its way down his spine.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Well," Arthur said distractedly, "you know, paperwork in general. Mostly just to keep the Ministry happy -- after the last war, you know, they wanted all the paperwork from the Order they could get their hands on. It's bureaucracy at work, Harry, you're starting out in the Ministry, you'll know soon enough."

Harry roamed the halls aimlessly until he found the room with the Black family tree in it.

He slid his fingers along the embroidered branches until he came to Draco.

The last time he had been in this room, Harry thought with amusement, he had hated Draco with a passion. Maybe he still did, sometimes. Maybe a part of him always would.

But wasn't that what caring about someone was? Not glossing over their flaws, but acknowledging they exist and loving the person for the good?

That was something these supremacists could never do. They bred for blood, and not who the person was inside. What their soul contained.

It would be easy to lose yourself, Harry thought, brought up like that. He didn't blame Draco for it; on the contrary, he directed all his rage at Lucius and Narcissa and the whole damn pureblood... cult... for brainwashing a clever, engaging and spirited young man who was never going to live up to his full potential.

With a small sigh, Harry dropped his hand and returned to Arthur, who was rooting through a desk.

"Harry, help me, here," Arthur said, and Harry placed his hand in the desk, too.

"I can't quite reach whatever that paper is," Arthur told him. "Can you? I think your arms are a bit longer."

Harry leaned forward and just as his shoulder felt like it was about to dislocate, he got a grip on the parchment and slid it out.

"Doesn't look like anything to me," Harry said, pushing his glasses up.

Arthur turned it over. "Perhaps..." he muttered, and tapped it a few times with his wand. "Aperio!"

Nothing happened.

"Well, Harry," Arthur mused, "we might want to call it a day, huh?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Sorry we didn't find much. If you'd like me to look more --"

"It's fine, Harry," Arthur said. "Molly wants to have you for dinner sometime, so whenever you get a chance..."

Harry nodded and shook hands with Arthur, and Apparated home.

When his feet landed on solid ground, he unlocked the door of room number 653.

Draco was standing in the middle of the room, head tilted, a smirk on his lips, dressed in only a pair of what looked like edible underwear and leaning on his old Nimbus 2001.

It was a lot to take in at once, so Harry stood there a moment, his eyes flicking up and down Draco's body.

"Bloody hell," Harry commented, running a hand through his hair.

"I find it a bit strange that the Weasley twins sell edible underwear," Draco said, "but then again, they are Weasleys, and therefore not subject to reality."

Harry grinned. "Nice broom."

"I figured you might like the irony," Draco drawled.

Harry approached Draco and knelt at his feet. He took the underwear in his teeth and tore a strip down the length of Draco's cock.

Draco slid his hands into Harry's hair, holding onto Harry's skull as his tongue worked over the place where thigh met crotch. He turned Draco around gently and licked up the length of his ass until the heat of his tongue had melted through the confectionary and all that was left was a sweet, fruity taste in his mouth and the glide of Draco's bare ass against his lips.

Harry turned him around again, and Draco gripped Harry's shoulders as Harry began to lick and suck in earnest. Draco let out a guttural moan and his hold on Harry's shoulders tightened.

Harry continued to tease up and down the length of Draco until he was slick with precome.

Draco orgasmed shortly after, swearing as he did, and Harry flicked his wand and whispered "Scourgify" a few times. When he was finished, he sat back, legs bent under him.

Draco slid on a pair of boxers -- Harry's boxers, actually -- and knelt down next to Harry, leaning his head on his shoulder in a rather surprising display of tenderness. Harry ran a hand up and down Draco's thigh, enjoying the friction against his palm.

"What are you going to do?" Draco said, his tone oddly blunt and businesslike

"Concerning what?" Harry replied.

Draco nudged him with a sharp shoulder blade. "Obtuse much, Potter?"

"Oh," Harry said. "I don't know. Why are you assuming I'm going to fight your battles?"

"You know you will."

"I do," Harry said. "It's just not polite to presume." He yawned idly.

"I don't know what you think you're going to do, anyway," Draco remarked. "I need an heir."

"Get some pureblood girl pregnant and run off with me to the South Seas," Harry said, deadpan. "There's your heir."

"Society doesn't tend to look kindly upon that kind of thing," Draco said. "Also, I'm not particularly fond of the beach. Never have been."

Harry chuckled. "The plan is a work in progress."

"It had better be," Draco said, sliding his fingers up underneath Harry's watch and against his pulse.

They sat there together for fifty beats, and then got up to order dinner from room service, the cogs in Harry's brain turning the entire time.