A/N: I know! I know! But I'm having difficulties working this part out, I didn't intend to have some particular scenes in here, and adding them is has been hell! I'm sorry I've been so irregular, I promise it'll pick back up VERY SOON! I am finally picking up the thread of where I had hoped to be by now, and I'm sorry this chapter is short but I want you guys to pester me about it! Please, give me a hard time so I'll know you guys are still interested and I'll feel guilty that I haven't been following through! Make me feel guilty, and I'll write for you! Like poking me with a stick but from over there. So let me know that I've been a mean mean person for not giving you guys what I promised, and I'll have to buckle down! I've been having a block but if i get some inspiration, who knows!

Show me you care, and review! Thank yall!

Oh, and as a side note: a warning, Harry's going to be pretty touchy for a bit, and emotional, most likely. As much as Draco needed him, he has come to need Draco to need him, and Draco's independent streak and attitude problems coming up and just a bit ago are really going to get to poor Harry. He's a hero at heart, and became dependent on the idea that Draco needed him. So be aware, Harry's going to be a big softy for the next few chapters! Sorry!

Oh, and Answers: I totally agree on your first point. Now we're getting somewhere with this ;o) And your idea of Harry and Draco sitting around in pjs around a fire is just TOO CUTE!

Thank you all for your continued support!

Draco sighed in tired relief as he sank into the plush couch Harry finally let him sink into. The stubborn brunette had insisted on running Draco through a cool-down session to prevent his body from cramping after their rigorous training, disregarding Draco's insistence that he didn't care whether he was sore, he was tired now.

Harry snorted at the look on Draco's face, amused by the blonde's antics.

"Never again!" he swore, amusement glittering in his silver eyes and softening the potential offence in the words. "Never again am I trusting my body in your hands! You are my trainer NO MORE! You… are… evil!"

Harry chuckled, refusing to acknowledge the mental image of Draco's body in his hands that automatically sprang to mind. "You're such a drama queen," he shot back. "You know you love it."

"Love being pushed beyond physical ability? Right. It's right up there with… with… with… oh, bloody hell, just imagine I said something very witty right there."

Harry let out a surprised laugh and shook his head. "You're something else, Draco," he snorted.

Draco smirked, pleased with himself. "Aren't I just?" he agreed, and dug a hand through his sweaty hair.

Harry gestured with a nod down the hall and began to move away; Draco whined and shook his head. "I'm tired, man, give me a minute to rest!"

"Nice, hot, private showers await you down the hall," Harry returned over his shoulder.

Draco was on his feet and following in an instant. "Even if I don't have any clothes to change into, I could go for that!"

Harry snorted. "You can filch some of my clothes for the day, I've got plenty here."

Draco cocked a brow, but said nothing more on the matter until he was showed the locker bursting with clothes. "Bloody hell, Potter, you've got more clothes in your locker at work than most people do in their homes!"

Harry shrugged self-consciously. "Well I had to be prepared for any number of occasions interrupting my training, so I had to have clothes for anything."

Draco eyed a pair of slick leather pants. "What, were you afraid you would have to suddenly stop training to go clubbing?"

Harry blushed and tugged the pants from view behind the rest of the clothes. "Oh, shut up, Draco. Just pick some stuff out. We'll have to shrink it, but there should be some things in here you wouldn't mind being caught dead in. Especially since you're currently wearing that."

Draco glanced down at the clothes draped over his shoulders and hips. "That, my dear Potter, is very true. It would seem 'mortal peril' is one of those things that kind of alters your outlook on life and fashion, yes?"

Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or frown at that, and settled for a nod and letting himself get distracted with the clothes within the closet. "I suppose," he grunted, and pulled a few pairs of wizard-inspired jeans he thought Draco would approve of from the depths. "I never wear these, they're too… flashy for me. They'll be right up your…" but his voice died as Draco plucked a simple pair of faded blue jeans and a crimson t-shirt from the nearest rack.

"These'll do," Draco countered smoothly, grinning.

Harry cocked a brow. "Muggle jeans, Draco? You're kidding, right?"

Draco laughed and shook his head. "If only I could have had a camera handy. The look on your face! You sound like my… you sound like… a prep," he finally settled on, his brow furrowing a bit at the middle. Harry shrugged it off. He knew what Draco had intended to say, and was pleased that he had stopped just before comparing Harry to his, Draco's, father.

"Ah, well. I suppose you really have sprouted a soul. Go you."

Draco snorted. "Just because I have a more relaxed sense of fashion, I have a soul?"

"No, that's not the only reason. You just snorted. And a Malfoy never snorts."

Draco widened his eyes dramatically. "Well it's a good thing I'm not legally a Malfoy any longer, then, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged out a drawer at the base. "And before you get all wigged out, none of these have ever been worn, since I haven't had the occasion to change here since I restocked. They're all brand-new and freshly laundered."

Draco laughed as he saw that Harry was gesturing to the boxers and socks tucked neatly within the drawer.

"That is so reassuring, Potter," he chuckled. "I was so worried I was going to get cooties from you, of all people."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean!" Harry countered, affronted.

Draco's laughter redoubled. "It was a compliment, Potter! Calm down! I was saying you're not likely to be dirty."

Harry blushed. "Oh. Okay," he grunted. "I'm just so used to you insulting me. Especially with you calling me Potter every three seconds."

Draco laughed. "Awww, poor baby," he crooned. "Got his brand-new panties all up in a bunch?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Just go get a shower, you great prat," he groused, and snatched some clothes from the locker carelessly.

Draco's laughter followed him as he retreated. "Oh, come on! I was only kidding! I can see your panties aren't up in a bunch, they're neatly folded in a drawer. Oh, look, these ones have got little hearts on them!"

Harry winced and resisted the urge to run back and snatch the aforementioned boxers from Draco's hands, blushing all the while, in favor of storming off. "Grow up!" he tossed over his shoulder.

Draco laughed delightedly. "And these have smiley faces on them!"

If only the curtains pulled across the three-walled shower stalls could be slammed. Alas, like slamming the flap on a tent in a fit of rage, the curtain simply hissed along its bar loudly, which was wholly unsatisfying.

Especially when, since Harry had jerked it too hard, he had to re-adjust it along the opposite corner.

He shrugged out of his clothing, his face and neck aflame with embarrassment, and turned the water on to drown out Draco's chuckling. The blonde had managed to completely push his buttons, and he didn't even realize it, simply by teasing him about his fashion sense. Draco had always dressed immaculately, his every hair in place, his clothes clinging to him perfectly like the second skin he wore them to be. But Harry's genetics and family had made it such that he had never been able to be either neat or well-dressed. His hair had a mind of its own, and his clothes had been second-hand from a boy three times his size.

And now, Harry chided himself, you're a full-grown man with your own well-chosen wardrobe and he still manages to find something wrong with it. And still you succumb to his taunts!

Fool.

The only indication he had of Draco's arrival in the showers was the sound of the curtain of the stall Draco had chosen slinking closed and the choking cough of the showerhead coming to life.

And the loud moan of pleasure Draco let loose soon thereafter.

Harry tensed at the sound, his body responding against his will.

"Oh, gods," Draco groaned, and Harry was left wondering just what Draco was doing. "Gods, Potter!"

Harry had to snake out a hand to catch himself against the stall wall. "Draco?" he asked, an air of calm blessedly coming from somewhere to infuse itself in his otherwise shaking voice.

"This feels incredible!" Draco crooned delightedly.

Harry coughed gently to clear his throat of his desire. Draco's voice… the way he had moaned… oh, dear.

"You alright, Draco?" he asked.

"I haven't had a proper shower in ages!" Draco chuckled. "The hospital's sorry excuse for a shower was just pathetic. More of a trickle than a shower, to be honest. And it never got good and hot. Gah! And man was I tired!"

Harry choked out a laugh of relief. "You're something else," he settled on saying.

"I think it was because they were scared some of the elderly patients would burn themselves. But damn do I miss hot showers!"

Harry shook his head of the mental images that had sprung to mind when he'd heard Draco moan his name. He thought back instead to all the times Draco had come from the shower connected to his room frowning in disappointment. Harry had never realized why.

But suddenly, as he realized just what Draco had been though and all of that which he knew of rape victims, Draco has still felt unclean after showering at the hospital.

What Harry didn't realize was the true extent of Draco's displeasure with the showers there. For those minutes that he was away from Harry, the memory of fingers on his skin returned. Every time Harry was not near him, touching him in some way, even if only a hand on his shoulder, the sensation of the men of the House of Serenity returned to haunt him, to hurt him, to burn him.

But as the pressurized downpour of heat from the showers at the Auror training gym pounded into him, he felt blessed relief from their touch. The hot water massaged his exhausted frame even as it beat away the lingering memory of their influence on him. For the first time in a long time, he felt free. From his past, from his childhood, from his memories.

He didn't want to imagine how short-lived his freedom would be.