"There is nothing wrong with this chair," Draco said. He glared at Ginny who poked at the very expensive, very nice antique with disdain. "It's authentic," he said in desperation. So far, she had turned her nose up at a reclining lounge chair, a Queen Anne side chair, a gigantic stuffed beanbag and now this.
"Authentically ugly," she said. "It's beige. Who covers a wooden chair in beige silk?"
"Beige is a perfectly nice neutral color," Draco said. He looked over at Harry, hoping to get some sort of support here, but Harry – traitor to his gender – had become fascinated by a candelabra and was picking it up and turning it over and again in his hands. Bastard.
"It doesn't have arms," she said.
"Would you just sit in it?" Draco asked.
Ginny sat down in the chair and went to swing her legs up over the arms that weren't there. "Huh," she said. "It doesn't work."
"But it's valuable," Draco said. "And it goes with the style of the house. What do you want to do? Throw some ugly pink thing from the 1950s in a London townhouse?"
"I just don't like it," Ginny said. She patted the chair as if apologizing to it for her disdain. The chair seemed unmoved by her regret and Draco began to be grateful they'd gone to a Muggle shop. A wizarding chair might have tried to take a bite out of her arse. "Pink might be nice, though. Better than this beige."
"Do you folks need any help?"
Draco and Harry both said no in unison and the salesgirl took a step backward, about to apologize, when Ginny said, "Yes."
The salesgirl managed to put an I'm eager to help you smile on though Draco was sure she was beginning to regret approaching them. "What are you looking for?" she asked.
"The entire flat is a disaster," Ginny said. She pointed at Draco. "It was his great aunt's and when she died everyone just left everything."
"Walburga is not my fault," Draco said. "And you've been living there for a while now and have done nothing other than clean up the kitchen."
"That was my mum," Ginny said to the salesgirl whose professional smile had taken on a more predatory gleam. Between Draco's posh accent and the realization these people needed everything she was probably already calculating her commission in her mind. They might be difficult and squabbling and rude, but they were money in the bank.
"What type of things do you like?" she asked. "We carry everything from antiques to some beautiful mid-century modern pieces."
"What do you have that's pink?" Ginny asked.
Draco looked over at Harry in disbelief. "Pink," he mouthed in horror. This was his fault. He had said the word pink and how she was going to get something in that shade just to annoy him.
"Pink and yellow," Ginny said. "Like the red and gold of school but a little toned down."
"I warned you," Harry said. "Opinions."
The saleswoman held out her arm and Ginny, with a smugly pleased look back at both Draco and Harry, let herself be guided up a set of stairs, around a corner, and into a room with furniture that made Draco close his eyes in horror. This had to be a joke. He'd shown her beautiful antiques with silk upholstery on and carved legs and she'd rejected all of it as ugly. His mother – a woman with unforgiving and precise opinions about furniture – would have approved of the last chair he'd found. And they'd been taken from that to this?
"Is that even real leather?" Draco asked.
"It looks like something you'd see in a dentist's office," Harry said.
The chair was, indeed, pink. And it was leather, or at least something approximating leather. Draco didn't want to touch it to find out for sure. A black metal frame made of what looked like industrial tubing held up three separate pieces of chair, each uglier than the one before. Ginny sat down in it. "This is wonderful," she said. "It's so comfortable."
"The mid-century designers were very interested in the way the human form interacts with furniture," the saleswoman said.
"Well, they certainly weren't interested in aesthetics," Draco said.
The saleswoman pursed her mouth. "This," she said, "is an authentic – "
Draco held up his hand to stop her. "I don't care," he said. He really didn't want to hear her recite the bona fides of the piece of horrid trash. "If Ginny likes it, it's fine, even if it was made by free elves with a shoe fetish."
The pursed lips turned into a smile. Harry let out a cough that sounded half choked. "Are you okay?" Draco asked.
"The elf thing," Harry said.
"It's nice to see a - boyfriend?- so supportive. So many men dislike this style," the saleswoman said.
"I'm her husband," Draco said. He really rather liked saying that. He'd be sad when he had to stop. Harry began to cough again. "Do you need some water?" he asked.
"No," Harry got out. "I'm fine."
"And who are you?" the saleswoman asked. "I do so love to see friends shopping together."
"A… friend," Harry said. "I'm her… friend."
"You're both of our friends," Ginny said.
"I think I'm better friends with you," Harry said.
Draco put a hand over his heart. "I think I'm offended," he said. "I thought we were the best of friends, Harry. How can you tell me you're closer to Ginny?"
"We're all really equally close," Ginny said.
Harry turned red.
The saleswoman, no stranger to complicated dynamics that could scuttle a sale, said, "So you're all roommates then? London is so expensive many people end up rooming together."
"Yes," Harry said in a rush, clearly happy to have an explanation, or perhaps it was only clear to Draco, who'd spent years staring at the man. "We're roommates. That's all. That's exactly it."
"Well, I know how those old family places can be," the saleswoman said. "Tins of flour from World War 2 still sitting in back cupboards filled with who knows what. Weevils, most like."
"It's dreadful," Ginny said with conspiratorial relish. "And the stuff they hung on the walls back in the day? It's so bad it practically screams at you."
Harry was overtaken by another coughing fit.
"Well, we do carry wall art as well," the woman said. "Let me show you some things that might go well with that chair." She led Ginny off, one arm not quite slung around her shoulder, decision maker identified. Husband and roommate were left standing by the offending pink chair.
"That," Draco said pointing at it, "is hideous."
Harry pointed up at what had to be some of the 'wall art' the saleswoman had mentioned. Black letters of various sizes had been printed onto canvas. They didn't spell anything out. There was no code, no meaning, just font. "Do you think we'll end up with that?"
"That is not art," Draco said.
"My aunt would have liked it," Harry said. He looked around a bit gloomily, though he brightened when his gaze settled on the chair. "She would have hated that, though. Too loud."
"You weren't close?" Draco said. It was the polite thing to say, a neat way to dismiss family that you acknowledged but didn't want to have over for tea. His mother might say it about Andromeda. Oh, we aren't close any more. 'Not close' covered a lot of ground from murderous hatred to casual indifference.
"Not close works," Harry said.
Draco could hear what sounded like long-suppressed rage. Curious. "Should we have her over to be horrified by it, then?" he asked. "I can put on my best Malfoy sneer for her."
"She hates magic," Harry said shortly. "Best not."
Draco took a step closer, until he could feel Harry Potter's breath, and said, "You hate her." Harry tried to take a step away but he ended up with his back to a pretentiously exposed brick wall festooned with ugly clocks. He closed the distance between them with another step. He could almost feel the heat of Potter's body. "You really, really hate her," he said in a low voice. "Why?"
"None of your damn business, Malfoy," Harry said. He kept it quiet though. He didn't want a scene. Good.
"I'm Malfoy again?" Draco asked. He liked this game. It wasn't nice of him but, damn, it felt good to literally see Harry Potter backing himself into a wall to get away from him. Harry's eyes met his and they almost boiled with fury but also something else. "I thought we'd moved to Harry and Draco."
"I hate you," Harry said.
"No, you don't," Draco said. He knew it was true as soon as he said it. Potter wouldn't have agreed to help get him out of jail if hate was the only thing he felt. He met those green eyes and tried to figure out what he saw.
"I found a –." Ginny appeared again. She stopped mid-sentence and put her hands on her hips. "Stop, both of you," she said.
Draco stepped back at once and brushed at his trousers. "We were just admiring the clocks," he said.
"Clocks are great," Harry said in rapid agreement. "Time, you know. It's important."
"Oh, good," Ginny said. "Which one do you think we should buy?"
Harry turned and looked up at the wall. "That one," he said, pointing at what had to be random. His finger landed on a clock that looked like a child's illustration of the sun, assuming the child in question was either not a talented artist or had resented being asked to draw a sun and so had been as difficult and petty about it as possible.
Ginny glanced at Draco, challenge in every line of her body. "Draco?" she asked.
"Oh, I agree with Harry," Draco said. "That's a marvelous clock."
"I'll add it to the pile," the saleswoman said.
"Dare I ask?" Draco said. They hadn't been gone long. Surely they hadn't made that many decisions. How bad could it be?
"I think you'll be very happy," the saleswoman said. "Your wife made selections for the main sitting area, from carpets to seats to a kidney table."
"It's made out of kidneys?" Draco asked. He glanced over at Harry. Was this some kind of Muggle thing? Harry knew Muggles. He would know if this was a joke, right? Unfortunately, Harry looked just as lost as he felt.
The saleswoman laughed as though he had been the one to make the joke. "No, it's the shape," she said. "Very popular in mid-century modern design. It will go brilliantly with the rest of what she picked out." She leaned over and said in a stage whisper. "She has marvelous taste but, then, she picked you, didn't she."
Draco flicked another glance at Harry. "Indeed," he said. "Ginny picks all the best things."
Harry scowled and blushed and pushed that black hair back off his glasses. It fell right back into his eyes and Draco smirked. Harry glared. The saleswoman said in the chirpiest voice imaginable, "If you could just tell me how you'd like me to bill this, and where to deliver it, we can get your new furniture to you, oh, I think the next open delivery window is next week, but I can try to get them to put a rush on it."
Draco had the sinking, horrible realization that Gringotts gold wasn't going to work. Damn, Muggles, anyway. What did they use instead of proper currency? Harry followed his thoughts far too acutely and said, "Could you send the bill to our address. Draco'll ring up the bank and have them send a draft over. Hate to use credit for things like this. Sets up a bad habit, you know."
The saleswoman beamed as though that were the most logical thing and nodded in what pretended to be absolute agreement. Draco hated how relieved he felt that Harry Potter took over and chatted to the woman as he wrote down the address, asked if she knew any top-notch cleaning services that could give the place a good going over before they brought the new things in, and maybe a rubbish hauling service too. "Might as well get it all done at once," he said after he signed his name to some paperwork she slipped in front of him.
"Gringotts?" Draco asked. He was not letting Harry Potter pay for this. Absolutely not.
"Sounds perfect," Ginny said. "And then you two can take me out for a late lunch."
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N - Thank you so much to moonlightmasquerade for beta reading.