Ronald

The sound of quiet talking woke Harry from a pleasant sleep. He opened his eyes, thankful the room was still mostly dark. Light came in from the open door leading into the rest of Draco's flat, where Harry could just make out two men speaking. The front door closed and Harry yawned, deciding to get up reluctantly. He had slept in his boxers, but on a nearby chair there was a black silk robe and he shrugged into it casually. The main flat was much brighter and Harry squinted against the glare. Draco was sitting on one of the large black chairs in the living room, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper section already dressed for the day in his traditional ensemble of black. There were two trays on the glass coffee table covered with stainless steel lids. The smell of coffee and food lured him closer. Draco smiled as he neared and handed him a cup of coffee, already prepared the way he liked it. "Thank you." He sat on the sofa, blinking sleepily. "What's all this?"

"Breakfast. I ordered before we went to bed last night."

"Brilliant." Draco handed him the Food and Dining section of the paper and went back to reading his own, having learned that Harry was not always the most talkative person before coffee from their many meetings in January. It was nice not having to explain his every thought and feeling. Ginny always thought he was cross with her for something if he didn't wake up bright and cheerful. It had been annoying and frustrating to always put on a happy face first thing in the morning, even if he hadn't slept well. Draco was different. He understood Harry's morning disposition without him having to explain. Oddly, it put him in a better mood.

He read a few reviews of a new casual diner and then set the paper aside, stomach grumbling. "Hungry?" he asked Draco, who nodded, folding his paper, tossing it on the table. Harry uncovered the trays exposing the sausages, porridge, fried tomatoes, and toast with marmalade. Both trays were similar, but Draco's left off the porridge and toast. They ate quietly, a comfortable companionship. Minus the change in scenery, it felt like any other breakfast with Draco. Though it didn't escape Harry that this was their first shared meal after sharing a bed. He decided to keep that point to himself, afraid it sounded too mushy. "What's on your agenda today?" He asked instead.

Draco looked up with a smile. That was an often asked question when they had breakfast together. It was Harry's way of making a statement: Nothing really had changed. They were still the same two guys eating breakfast and having coffee together (overlooking that Harry was in a borrowed robe only in his boxers underneath). Some things had drastically changed, but the underlying foundation of their friendship remained. Draco took a sip of coffee. "I have to make some alterations to a few gowns. They didn't work quite as well as I had hoped on the runway."

"When does that need to be done?"

"By next week." Draco sighed. "It's my own fault. I was neglectful."

"So was I," Harry admitted to Draco surprised expression. "I have no idea where we stand on Valentine's Day preparations."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Yes, Valentine's Day. This Saturday, only the busiest day for restaurants across the country."

Draco scowled at him in, but with a grin. "I know what Valentine's Day is, idiot." Shit. He had no idea what Valentine's Day was. "I just lost track of time." He finished his light breakfast and stood, kissing Harry briefly. "Speaking of which, I need to go. Call me later?"

"Of course." Then Harry looked around. "Have you seen my mobile?"

Draco shook his head, pausing at the door. "Need help looking?"

Harry waved him away. "It's probably back at my flat. I need to go home for clothes anyway."

"Not that you don't look amazing in my robe." Draco teased, grinning as Harry blushed. "See you later!" He closed the door, leaving Harry alone to finish his meal.

Harry returned to his own flat not long after and quickly dressed. In the bathroom he saw his reflection and lifted the fringe from his forehead to see his ever present, if not ever visible scar. For some reason it brought back a conversation he and Draco had about Death Eaters. Harry had always wanted to investigate Draco's claims that the Ministry knew about his attackers and did nothing. Not because he didn't believe Draco, he did; he just wanted the other point of view as well. He also figured he should stop by Seven Thirty One. His poor restaurant must feel neglected. After some searching he found his mobile stuck between two couch cushions, completely empty. Slightly irritated at himself he plugged it into the charger and decided he'd have to come back for it later. Besides, muggle electronics didn't always do the greatest near magic. It sometimes caused them to short out, Harry wasn't sure why. Maybe one day he'd ask Arthur if he had a theory. Harry straightened his flat a little and then headed out to the nearest Ministry entrance.

Harry decided to wear a glamour into the main hall of the Ministry this time to avoid the unwanted attention he garnered before. He made his way to the Atrium unnoticed, just another middle aged wizard with glasses and a forgettable face. Many things had changed in the Ministry after Voldemort's defeat, but the Auror's main focus remained the same: Hunt down and detain Death Eaters. Harry used one of the lift devices and headed toward Level 2 of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, headquarters of the Aurors and Harry's old job. With a small wave, he vanished the glamour as he landed on the floor.

Not much had changed in the three years since he left. The floor was still a mess of cubicles, but several desks were empty; devoid of personal items and files. The whole floor seemed quieter. Many Aurors had lost their lives in the final battles of the Second Wizard War and their ranks had never fully been replenished. Voldemort and Death Eaters had been the Aurors main objections. With Voldemort permanent defeat, and Death Eaters mostly dead or captured, many in the Ministry thought the Aurors an outdated and antiquated idea. At least while Harry had been involved they still got funding; by the looks of the place that had long since dried up. Harry made his way toward the back, where the more senior Aurors tended to have their desks. He turned a corner and recognized a voice.

Auror Maximus Cooke was joking with a younger Auror, reading from a newspaper. His scars, from a particular nasty spell cast at him during a duel with a Death Eater, had faded some with the years, but were still very much evident. Harry came closer and the Auror glanced over his newspaper, all smiles when he recognized Harry.

Cooke lowered the paper and embraced Harry, "The prodigal wizard returns!" He pat Harry's back, grinning. "Finally decide to come back to work?" Cooke was a large man, easily towering over Harry and dwarfing him in bulk.

Harry returned the embrace, shaking his head in the negative.

"Harry!" Cooke hit him weakly with the paper, "You're wasting all your potential! And living like a muggle!" His face was scrunched up in horror.

"Well, I've had practice," Harry said automatically. It was his go to response when witches and wizards disparaged his living choice.

"A waste, I tell you." Cooke nudged the younger Auror. "Harry was the most talented Auror in centuries! A natural!"

The younger Auror looked confused, "Why did you leave then?"

There was an awkward silence. Harry rarely spoke about his decision to leave the Aurors. Cooke saved him from answering. "This job...you've only been here for a month or so. It can take its toll." He rubbed his face, tracing the scars that whipped across his face, five long and skinny streaks from his left eye to his chin. He seemed to snap himself out of thoughts, smiling at Harry again. "Which begs the question: what is Harry Potter doing at Auror Headquarters?"

Harry leaned against a cubical, trying to be casual. The wall wobbled and he quickly straightened up, attempt blown. "Well, I had a favor to ask, actually."

"Hmm, a favor for Harry Potter." Cooke lifted an eyebrow. The younger Auror looked in awe.

"Yeah," Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He hated trading on his name for anything. "I want the files on Draco Malfoy."

The younger Auror jumped up, eager to please, "Sure-"

Cooke cut him off in a sharp gesture. "That's official business, Harry, sorry. Most of his file was sealed anyway."

Determined not to persuaded, Harry tried again. "I'd like to see what I can." When Cooke remained silent Harry became a little more crafty with his persuasion. "Look, I could always go above your head and ask Kingsley, " Cooke's eyes narrowed at such familiar usage of the Minister of Magic's name, "However," Harry continued trying to keep his voice neutral and sincere, "I'm sure that won't be necessary. I just want to read the file."

No one moved, except the wide eyed Auror glancing rapidly between Harry and Cooke. Cooke continued to stare Harry down, being older, being larger, but Harry was hardly intimidated. Defeating the world's most evil wizard before you turned eighteen tended to change your perspective. He crossed his arms, and waited and wondered what the big deal was. He had worked with Cooke for years, never closely, but never saw him as being such a stickler for rules. It made him want to get his hands on the file even more. He was about to speak, when Cooke finally moved, pushing off his cubicle.

"Sure, Harry." There didn't seem to be any sign he was upset. "Give me a minute. Auror Tin, a hand, if you will." He turned with the Auror into a back room, without sparing Harry a second thought. Harry took a deep breath and waited. It only took a few minutes before Cooke came out with a thin looking manila folder. The younger Auror did not return with him. He handed the file over to Harry. "There you go. Just remember, it has to stay in the office."

"Thanks."

Cooke gave a short salute. "See you later, Harry."

Harry watched him leave the floor before inspecting the file. On the cover was Draco's name written incursive. Cooke had a unique way of writing his D's, it looked more like a backward G. The file was thinner than Harry would have thought. He opened it and was immediately angry. More than half the file looked like it had been hastily removed. Even the typical cover sheet with the most basic of information, birth date, location, parentage, description, it was gone, replaced with a generic page that only had the words D. Malfoy typed in bold at the top. Harry flipped through the file. Several facts from Draco's childhood had been redacted, heavily crossed out so that unless you knew him you would be unable to gather any information on his past. Alright, Harry conceded, this might have been part of the bargain when the Malfoy's turned sides, but it still didn't settle well with him.

There was one single page that Harry found the most interesting. It had been folded several times and tucked in between pages. A small four by three table was drawn crudely on the upper half. There were four names written hastily in sloppy cursive in the first column, a date, a location, and lastly status. Harry recognized one of the names as a known Death Eater. Harry looked at the first date and location a little closer and did the math. It matched up with what Draco had told him. The first attack on him came when he was nineteen. His eyes widened when he saw Deceased next to the status on that line. The other names all had Memory Altered next to their statuses. One name, not in the table had been crossed out so violently that Harry was unable to read it. At the bottom of the page written again in the sloppy script were more words: No further investigation. It didn't make sense. Harry flipped the page over, expecting more, even double checking the folder again. This had to be some of the sloppiest work he'd ever seen.

No one was currently investigating these Death Eaters because their memories had been altered? What if the spell had been reversed? Add on top that this was not what a normal Auror report looked like. What in the world was going on? Curious, he glanced around wondering once again where all the Aurors were. He imagined they could be out on assignment, but doing what? Either way, the solitude afforded him an opportunity. Double checking he was still alone, he copied the list of names on a scratch piece of paper, put the page back in the folder and placed it on Cooke's desk. He followed the hall to a larger gathering spot where Cooke was drinking from an oversized mug.

"Thanks again," Harry said with a wave.

"Find what you were after?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. You were right."

"Not sure why would be looking into a Malfoy anyway," Cooke said as he raised his mug. "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater." He laughed and drained his glass, giving Harry time to school his expression into indifference. He very much wanted to defend Draco, but knew this was not the time or the place. Instead, he stayed quiet. Cooke sat his drink down and gestured around him. "Anytime you're ready to come back, Harry, we'll be here."

Harry nodded, gave a small wave, and backed out of the hall and headed for the lift, a crazy idea in his head. While Level 2 housed the main Auror offices, Level 3 housed the various research materials used to aid them. He got out to another empty hall, pausing at a door with gold letters "Auror Research Facility". Unlike the door to Gryffindor Tower, this door was magicked to only allow Aurors in. On a whim, Harry doubted they removed his clearance. He stood squarely in front of the door. "I am Harry Potter." The door opened without a sound and Harry entered, closely the door behind him. Lights flickered on, illuminating a room that looked several times too large for the walls holding it in. Harry believed it worked like Hermione's Extension Charm on her bag, except modified to hold rows and rows and rows of books, records, tomes, and files. In the middle of the room, in two straight rows were tables for Aurors to work from, though, like the offices, it too was empty. Harry hurried to a table and started to cast accio based on the names from the list. Several thick folders floated to the table and Harry bit his lip. This was going to take longer than he thought. Either way, he was invested now. He started with the first name on his list:

Jugson, first name Unknown: Participated at the battle in the Department of Mysteries and later escaped Azkaban. Status: Dead, 1999.

Walden Macnair: Employed as an executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Participated at the break-in at the Department of Mysteries, and later escaped Azkaban after the latter crime. Also participated at the Battle of Hogwarts. He was thrown across the room by Hagrid, leaving him unconscious. Escorted to Azkaban, where he attempted to break free. Status: Memory Altered, June 2000. No further investigation needed.

Mulciber, first name Unknown: Specialised in the Imperius Curse. Escaped Azkaban fourteen years later to rejoin Voldemort. Participated in the break-in at the Department of Mysteries, and again escaped from Azkaban. Status: Memory Altered, August 2001. No further investigation needed.

Augustus Rookwood: A former Unspeakable that acted as though he was aiding the anti-Voldemort cause, but was revealed as a double agent. Escaped prison fourteen years later to rejoin Voldemort. Participated in the break-in at the Department of Mysteries, and later escaped from Azkaban. Participated in the Battle of Hogwarts, his explosion was what killed Fred Weasley. Status: Memory Altered, March 2002. No further investigation needed.

Harry sat back, worried. These weren't your normal lower level Death Eaters. They were powerful, loyal, fanatics to Voldemort. Harry remembered Macnair all too well. He would have killed Buckbeak in his Third Year had he and Hermione not intervened. And Rookwood...hell, where were these men. 'No further investigation needed'? Draco was right. The Ministry, at least the Aurors, knew about the attacks on his life. Worse, there was no follow up, exactly as Draco said. It made Harry uncomfortable.

With a wave of his wand, Harry sent the files back to the shelves, still deep in thought. This new information also strengthened Draco's claims. Any one of these men would love to see a Malfoy, father or son, killed for betraying Voldemort. Harry had to admit that he'd be high on their list as well. So why wasn't he told? He glanced at his watch, a normal Muggle time keeping device, and decided it was time to go. The longer he lingered, the greater chance he'd get caught and have to explain himself. For now, he would keep his findings to himself, unsure what they meant and unsure who he could trust.

He replaced his glamour and headed for the Atrium, silently amused when he passed Hermione as she spoke to a coworker. Neither lady spared him any attention. Once back to the surface he shook off the magic, pausing before he returned home.

A short time later Harry was at his flat. His mobile was fully charged and he turned it on, sitting on his couch as he waited. The phone chirped its song and lit up immediately: Mailbox full.

"Mailbox full?" That was a new one. He flipped the phone open and dialed his voicemail. The first call was from a chef at Seven Thirty One. He deleted that; he'd be there soon anyway. The next one was from Ron, but is sounded like it had been cut off. Another was from Ron, this time Harry got the gist of the message, paling at his friends anger. Harry listened in slight horror; somehow Ron knew about he and Draco.

One after the other, Ron had left messages all through the night. "Malfoy! Malfoy! Harry you prat, answer your phone!" "You damned coward! Where are you? With him! Probably laughing at me. I swear Harry if you don't answer your phone right now I'm going over there." "Not home or not just not answering! You bastard! This whole time it was Malfoy we were talking about?"

"Harry," this was from a worried Hermione, "Harry, I'm sorry. Ron found out. Talk to him before he does something stupid!"

Next message: "Harry how could you? This is Malfoy! Death Eater, Slytherin, Bullying, Malfoy! Have you gone mad as well as queer!?"

Ouch, that one hurt. He decided to erase the rest without listening to them. Any more of that vitriol and he was going to forget that half the reason Ron was so angry was Harry's fault. His phone rang in his hand and Harry nearly dropped it, feeling like it was personally attacking him. Hermione's number lit up on the display and Harry warily answered it, unsure if it would be Hermione or Ron. "Hello?"

"Harry!" Oh good, Hermione. "Harry, I'm sorry! Ron overheard us talking last night!"

"It's alright, Hermione." Harry had planned on telling Ron soon anyway. Though this was definitely not how he wanted it to go.

"No it's not." Hermione was talking fast, agitated. "I've never seen him this upset. He didn't come home last night, Harry! And I've tried finding him. George says he's not there, so does Molly. I don't know where he is."

Genuine panic was in her voice and Harry suddenly felt very guilty. "I'm sorry Hermione. I never should have asked you to keep this from him."

There was a pause, "It was yours to keep, Harry. I'm just sorry he found out like this."

Harry thought he might know where Ron would go, a place to be alone, to collect his thoughts. "I have an idea." Please let him be right. "I'll call you later." He hung up without hearing her reply, afraid he would give her too much hope in case he was wrong. He pictured the rolling green hills, the quidditch pitch, and cast the apparition spell.

The pitch came into view and Harry had just a split second to dodge the bludger hurtling straight to his head. He glanced up, Ron was on a broom hovering in the air, a beater's club in his hand. "Ron!" Harry shouted, half pleaded, "Come down and we'll talk." Years of playing quidditch gave Harry enough warning to quickly lower his head. The bludger passed him from behind, continuing towards Ron who hit it away with the club.

"Talk? Now you want to talk?" His face was dark red, eyes narrowed, mouth turned down in a frown.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls! I left my phone at my place!"

Ron tossed another bludger in the air, hitting the heavy iron ball towards Harry, who moved slightly to the right to avoid it. "So you were with him." Ron had a unique way of strangling a pronoun. He touched down on the ground a few feet from Harry, shaking with rage. "How could you, Harry!?"

Instead of being contrite, Harry became angry at his friend. He always did this. Whatever was happening to Happy, it always became about Ron. First, the Triwizard Cup, and then their search for the Horcruxes, and now this. He balled his fist, refusing to be cowed. He knew he should let it go and try and salvage what he could, but the way he accused Harry, like Harry was purposefully trying to spite him, it made him furious. "Dammit, Ron. You know this isn't about you, right? Stop being such a prig and I'll explain."

"Me? A prig?" He came closer, batting his eyes in mock innocence. "I'm sooo sorry. Isn't that all it takes for the great Harry Potter to forgive you? Bat your eyes, spout some nonsense, and years of hatred and mistreatment are swept under the rug!" He gave Harry a disgusted look. "Or was it because he screwed you too?"

Harry took a step back, shocked and hurt. Ron also looked surprised, like maybe he hadn't meant to say all of that, but it only lasted a second, and then he crossed his arms, standing by what he said. Despite his strongest attempts, Harry's eyes were filling with tears, both out of anger and sorrow, but mostly anger. "Ron, I actually came here to say I'm sorry and to try to explain to you, but if you don't take that back right now, I'm going to break your nose."

"You can try." Ron cracked his knuckles and came after Harry first, swinging a right hook. They had both gone to Auror training together, had both practiced hand to hand combat, but this was the first time they used it against each other outside of a sparring match. Ron had more reach and more force behind his punches, but Harry was faster, blocking and weaving inside Ron's defenses delivering a punch that indeed broke Ron's nose, cartilage collapsing with a crunch. With a savage yell, Ron grabbed Harry on both sides of his waist, picked him up and slammed him on the ground. Harry managed to block one kick, but the other got him in the ribs, knocking the air out of him in a painful rush. Harry recovered and swept Ron's feet from under him, getting ready to launch another attack when two figures apparated in the pitch. George grabbed Ron, holding his arms behind his back as he struggled, and Hermione pushed Harry back, hands on his chest.

"That's enough!" She shouted at them both. Ron had blood dripping out of a misshapen nostril, breathing hard through his mouth. Harry was also breathing hard, glaring at the restrained redhead, hand on his right side. That kick was going to leave a nasty bruise.

Ron seemed to calm down enough that George released him. The older man decided to stand between them, clearly not trusting them. "What is the matter with you two!"

Ron shook his head still too angry to speak.

"It's my fault," Harry said through gasps. "I should have told you about Draco." He tried catching Ron's eyes, but he was glaring at the ground. "I'm sorry." He ignored George's curious and wide eyed face. "But what I told you is still the truth! He means everything to me, but so does your friendship. Don't make me choose."

"Bollocks, Harry." Ron wiped the runny blood on his sleeve. "I just don't see how you can forgive him so easily!"

Harry took a deep breath, taking a step toward Ron. "Because that's what you do when you love someone!" Was he the only one who believed this!? It was oddly quiet on the pitch after his outburst. The flags on the top row of the spectator seats could be heard flapping in the breeze and some rooster had his time off, crowing even though the sun had been up for hours. And then there were four persons, three standing very still staring at Harry. "I'm sorry it's not what you want to hear." He ended as genuinely as he could.

For a moment Harry thought he got through to his oldest friend, thought he saw a relaxing of tension and softening of expression, but then Ron just kept shaking his head. "I'm sorry Harry, but I don't understand this." With a glance of apology to Hermione, Ron disapparated.

"Ronald!" Hermione shouted at the empty space. She turned to Harry, silently asking that he understand: She had to go after him. He gave a wordless nod and she also disapparated.

Then there were two. George was picking up the quidditch equipment, giving Harry a curious glance out of the side of his eye. "So, Draco Malfoy? And you?" He made a kissing motion with his lips and then fake gagged. "Sorry." Harry sighed and tossed George the quaffle. "I mean, I don't care, don't get me wrong," he continued latching the balls into the chest, "I just can see where Ron is coming from."

"I know," Harry replied with another sigh, putting pressure against his sore side.

"Do you though?" George stood, towering over Harry. "Ron has been tormented by Malfoy his entire life. If it wasn't the red hair it was the hand me down clothes, if it wasn't being poor it was having enough siblings to repopulate a small island. Malfoy has always been a prat to him. But you, you were his friend. You chose him over Malfoy, maybe the first time anyone ever had."

"He's still my friend. My feelings for Draco and my friendship for Ron shouldn't be mutually exclusive!"

"Yeah," George put a sympathetic hand on Harry's shoulder. "But they might be."

Harry was glad for the organized chaos of Seven Thirty One. He was also very glad he came in; several of his shift managers were trying their best to keep from panicking. Valentine's Day was six days away and they felt woefully underprepared. He calmly listened to their worries and their inventory counts, taking notes. This, at least, was something in his life that he could control. To many relieved faces Harry said he'd handle it, and, to more relief, actually went into his side office with the list.

He worked at a computer for the rest of the afternoon, pretty impressed with himself. He had made orders and schedules for the week. Yes, it was a bit of a distraction, but this restaurant was important to him. It was a bit of normalcy in his suddenly crazy life. Draco had tried to warn him. Being together was proving to cause more drama than Harry would have liked, but he refused to second guess his decisions. So, he concentrated on his work, both because it was helpful and because it was his responsibility. He was finishing up the design for the Valentine Day's menu when his mobile rang. It was once again Hermione's number and Harry answered. "Hello?"

"Harry, I'm sorry." Hermione sounded tired and slightly stuffy like she had been crying. "Ron thinks...I'm sorry. Maybe don't come around for a while, k?"

"Hermione?"

"Harry, I can't get caught in the middle of this! This isn't like school. Ron is my husband!"

"Oh." The importance of her call started to set in. Not only was he going to lose Ron, but he was going to lose Hermione as well. He swallowed the hurt, clearing his throat. "Yeah, of course. I understand Hermione."

"Harry," she sounded miserable and Harry felt sorry for her. She was in between a rock and a hard place and it was all his fault.

"Hermione, it'll be alright, you'll see." He didn't believe that. He didn't know if everything would be alright. His heart ached, thinking this might be the last time he spoke to Hermione for a long time. He didn't want to leave her worried. "Don't worry about me."

She was quiet, the slight sniffle the only hint she was still on the line. "Alright, Harry. I better go."

"Goodbye, Hermione."

"Goodbye, Harry."

Harry let his phone fall out of his fingers and then he put his face in his hands. What a damned mess. Draco warned him. More than once. Being in a relationship with another man would probably have had its own problems, but being that it was Draco Malfoy compounded it. And yet Harry couldn't see going backward now. His future, his compass, it was solidly aligned with Draco. That felt right, that was where he wanted to be. He hadn't known it meant leaving his closest friends in the past. He never would have imagined that. Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe wanting Ron, Hermione and Draco to all get along, just for him, was too much. He unexpectedly wanted to talk to Draco. He wanted to feel his arms around him, wanted his support. He reached for his mobile and dialed.

Draco stared at his new mobile, frowning in concern as he slowly flipped it shut.

"Who was that? Harry?" Brian was flattening fashion paper on an under lit table, the matching dress for the design next to it.

"Yeah." Draco continued to frown as he helped Brian, using paper weights to hold down the top two corners that kept trying to curl back on themselves.

"Everything alright?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah." Draco studied the drawing, picking up the problem dress.

"Sure?" Brian asked once more.

"Yeah, now help me with this." Draco focused on the dress, trying to figure out why it didn't flow the way it was supposed to on the runway. They had less than a week to fix four outfits; it was going to be tight. However, he allowed a small bit of his mind to worry about Harry. He had sounded off on the phone. When he told Harry he would be working really late he expected Harry to understand, but what he got was such a positive response that it had to be false. Harry was trying too hard, which meant something was bothering him. What it was, Draco was unsure. Whatever it was, it was going to have to wait. He returned his full focus to Brian, deciding the bottom hem of the dress was to blame, which meant he had to change the entire bottom stitch. With a sigh he grabbed the seam ripper and began undoing all his hard work.

It was past midnight when Draco finally returned to his flat. He was beyond exhausted; shoulders, back and fingers sore from repairing that damned dress. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, aware that he would have get up early and do it all again tomorrow if they had any chance to be prepared for next week's show. The main living space was dark as he came in, but he saw a faint light from his room, using that as a guide instead of turning on anymore lights. Harry was in bed, sitting up as Draco came in. He was shirtless, obviously ready for bed, but still wide awake. "Hey. I thought you'd be asleep." Draco undressed as he was talking, folding his clothes and setting them neatly on a chair. Harry gave a small shake of the head. He was downcast, everything about him seemed slightly deflated, except his eyes. They still lit up when they looked at each other. Draco pulled on a pair of soft night pants, making his way toward Harry. "Want to talk about it?" Harry opened his mouth; nothing came out, though he gave a nod. "Give me a second." Draco went through his nightly routine in record time. He barely got into bed before Harry reached for him, sliding over to rest on his chest. Draco held him, one arm on Harry's waist, the other on his shoulder. He wasn't sure what was upsetting Harry, but he was fairly confident it wasn't him. For once.

Harry sighed, a quiet exclamation of pain escaping with his exhaled breath.

"Are you alright?" Draco glanced down at Harry, just noticing a splotching ugly bruise on Harry's side. "What did you do?" He tried not to sound alarmed, lightly touching the sore spot. It felt hot against his fingers and he lifted them quickly.

"Actually, put your hand back, will you?" Draco complied and Harry took another deep breath, this one sounded relieved. "Thanks." He was quiet, his left hand slowly moving back and forth over Draco's chest. "I might have ruined my friendship with Ron today." Harry said finally after several moments of silence.

That would explain the odd mood. Draco didn't quite hate Ronald Weasley, but he certainly wasn't his favorite person. Both of their families were pure blood, something that had mattered to Draco for most of his life, but less now. The Weasley's never seemed to care about their heritage, their ancestry. Ronald and his siblings never valued their pure blood, and as a child, that meant Draco didn't value them. However, he knew Harry valued the red head's company, for whatever reason. He tried to be optimistic, "I'm sure you didn't."

"I broke his nose." Harry said, glancing up from Draco's chest looking only slightly guilty.

It took a lot of self control not to laugh, but somehow Draco managed. "And this? From him?" He lifted his fingers from the bruise and Harry used his free hand to put it back. Draco tightened an arm around him, offering him silent support. "So what happened?"

"Oh, I botched things up," Harry began, rolling over so that he was staring at the ceiling, his head resting on Draco's shoulder. Without looking he found Draco's hand and put it back on his bruise. Draco was fine being his ice pack, gently keeping his cooler fingers on Harry's skin. Once comfortable again, Harry glanced at Draco from an angle. "Ron overheard me talking to Hermione yesterday." Draco thought maybe it was something like that, nodding for Harry to go on. "I don't know what made him madder: me being with you, or me not telling him about you."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly.

"Why? You don't even like Ron."

Draco was tired and didn't look forward to working another ten hour day tomorrow. He yawned, "No, I don't like him," he admitted, "but I like you. If this is upsetting you, then it's upsetting me." He yawned again, kissing the top of Harry's head. "And it's keeping me awake."

"Ah, the real reason," Harry said lightly. He reached for his wand and turned off the lights, casting the room into darkness. Harry settled back against Draco, who returned his hand to Harry's bruise without having to be asked. Draco thought maybe Harry was willing to go to sleep, but he was wrong. Harry dropped his hand on the bed with a thud. "You know what makes me so mad?"

Draco struggled to keep his eyes open. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

"He sounded so supportive, so understanding when he didn't know you were the reason I was sad."

There seemed to be a bit of missing information in that statement, but Draco was too tired to ask for clarification. Though it did give him a thought. "Well, that's a good thing."

"A good thing?"

"Yeah. You just have to overcome his hatred of me, not his hatred of homosexuality. I'm flattered he hates me more than that."

"Draco," Harry said with an edge to his voice, thinking Draco was being too flippant.

"I'm being serious. Besides, haven't you and Weasley had fallings out before?" Draco seemed to recall several times when Ron and Harry were at odds. They always managed to forgive each other. He didn't think Harry was overreacting, he just didn't think he was looking far enough in the future.

"Yeah, but nothing like this."

"I'm sure you thought that before."

"Draco, you better have a point because you're starting to irritate me." With an angry sound from his throat Harry moved away from Draco.

Draco blindly reached for his wand on his nightstand and whispered a lumos so he could see Harry's face. He was on his side, a few inches away, scowling at him. "My point is this: Weasley and Granger have stayed by your side throughout everything. They stood by you even when it meant possible death by Voldemort's hands. They have always stood by you. I can't possibly be worse than Voldemort." He doused his wand, finding Harry's face in the dark from memory, holding it in his hand. "So, I say this not only because I want to go to sleep, but because I mean it: He'll come around."

Harry gave his hand a squeeze and then fell back on his pillow. Draco hoped maybe now Harry was willing to sleep. He started to relax, leaning back, eyes closed. Just as he started to fade, a warm hand touched his shoulder. "Are you still awake?"

"Mmhm," Draco lied slightly.

"No you're not." Harry's voice was quietly disappointed.

Draco forced his eyes open in the dark and suppressed the sigh he so wanted to use. Instead, he strummed his fingers lightly on Harry's arm. "I'm awake, and I'm listening."

A few seconds passed before he heard Harry take a deep breath. "I think I'm being selfish."

"Selfish?" Draco was genuinely surprised at Harry's self accusation. "You're the least selfish person I know."

"It's just...I wanted to apologize to Ron, I really did."

"But?"

Harry's body tensed up. "I'm tired of always saying I'm sorry." There came another sigh. "See? Selfish? I want it all; you, them, even the apology."

Draco considered his words carefully before speaking. "That doesn't make you selfish, Harry. It makes you human." He pulled him a little closer. "You and Weasley will get through this. I'll even be civil to him when you do. You know why?" He felt Harry shake his head against his chest. "Because I'd do anything for you."

Harry sat up, and for a minute Draco thought he was going to turn on the lights again, or worse, get out of bed, but instead two lips, soft and warm, met his in a kiss, short and sweet. "Thank you," Harry whispered as he placed another kiss on Draco's lips.

"You're welcome," Draco pulled Harry down until he was resting on him again. "Now, please, go to sleep." His answer was another kiss on his skin followed by some wiggling and then stillness. A few minutes passed before Harry put Draco's cool hand back on his side and then there was no more movement, only the heavier weight of a body asleep. Ironically, Draco was awake now, enjoying the feel of Harry sleeping on him. A small plan was forming in his mind, a plan to heal the broken bonds of friendship between Harry and Weasley. But it would require help. He wasn't sure how he was going to fit it into his schedule tomorrow, but he would. He wanted Harry happy, that was beginning to be more important to Draco than his own happiness. So much so that he was even willing to be civil with Weasely for Harry. Now, he had to get Weasely to agree too. He let his fingers trail up and down Harry's arm for a while, the motion soothing him until he too fell asleep.