A/N: For the purposes of this story, Harry and Draco are approximately the same height.

Dumbledore was an ass. Plain and simple. Ass. Draco had really had it up to—well—his hip, with all the goody-goodies. Especially Dumbledore. Absolutely nothing he could do. That's what he'd said, after they'd three-legged it to his office and gone up those stupid steps. Couldn't he have come down to the dungeons for that? Plus, that bastard, that old utter bastard—had been smiling. Even Potter was annoyed; he was muttering something, God only knew what with Scarhead. Of course it had to be summer when they got stuck like this, it couldn't have been winter when the warmth would have been welcome. Ugh, as if he'd ever welcome Potter's nearness. At least seeing Crabbe and that Weasley prat poncing around hand-in-hand was amusing. Dumbledore had nearly split a gut when he saw them.

"Potter?" Draco said, as they walked towards the dungeons.

"Shut-up, Malfoy."

"That's really not nice Potter. I just wanted to tell you something."

Harry sighed, he wasn't sure that he was going to make it through this without killing Draco after all. "What did you want to tell me Malfoy?"

"Potter I'm really really really hungry."

"For the fifth time, I don't care. We are not going into the Great Hall like this."

"Well why not?" Draco pouted. "Everyone's bound to know by now anyway. Besides, Crabbe and Weasel went in there."

"Yeah well they're ruled by their stomachs, I'm not."

"Well, what if I am?"

"Then it's too bad you connected yourself to me."

Draco was outraged. "I did not connect myself to you on purpose!"

"Whatever Malfoy, lets just go down and see what our new room is like. I know one of the house elves; I'll ask him to bring us something to eat. Ok?"

Draco huffed, "Fine but I want what they had in the Hall, I'm not eating sandwiches."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Why did they have to live in the dungeon now? As if it was any easier to go down stairs than to waddle up them. Harry guessed that it was so they could be near professor Snape if he ever discovered a cure for their—predicament. It was awful down there though, dank and disgusting and slimy, much like Snape. At least, that's what Harry thought. When they got their new room, he was pleasantly surprised. True, the color scheme was still black and silver and green, but the room was cozy enough. It looked a lot like the dorms in Gryffindor Tower with four beds (albeit two on either side of the room pushed very close together), but this room also had a fireplace of its own, and a small study area with two black leather love seats and some oversized tables against the wall. It was depressingly intimate to Harry's eyes. He couldn't imagine curling up with Malfoy on a love seat to do his homework. It was an awful, awful image.

Dear God, Draco thought, this was more serious than he'd realized. Their beds were right beside each other! The couches were all… lovey dovey. Ughh how could he have gotten himself into this? Looking around the room he took stock. He and Potter seemed to be on the far side of the room, their trunks were already in front of the beds. The sitting area would do, if he could get over the fact that he had to sit with Potter all the time. There was a door on the far right of the room. He wondered where it went. Then he realized—it would be the bathroom. They would have to go to the bathroom together! Oh but he knew, all along he knew, but this was not ok! Of course, as soon as he thought about a bathroom, he needed to use it. That was always the way these things worked.

"Potter," he said, "I suppose that door leads to the bathroom."

Harry got a panicked expression in his eyes as he glanced over at Draco.

"Don't give me that look Potter. It's been hours. You're bound to have to go by now."

"I do Malfoy, but I was hoping to hold it until I burst and died—thus ridding myself of you." Harry said.

"Very funny. You truly are a wit. Lets go and see what the bathroom's like. Maybe they'll have worked something out for us to have privacy, half walls or something."

"Yeah," Harry looked thoughtful, and mildly grateful, "maybe they have."

But they hadn't. There were four toilets, set up very much like the beds in the room. What did Dumbledore expect, that they would use the bathroom side-by-side? This had to be some sort of sick joke. He could not possibly expect…

"Oh my fucking God!" Harry shrieked.

Draco looked annoyed, "What Potter?"

Harry was just pointing, mute with horror, toward the shower stalls. There were two of them, extra-large, each had two showerheads side-by-side—and no divider.

Draco hung his head, and rubbed his temples tiredly. "Potter?" he said.

Harry turned his head to face Draco, he tried to say What? but could only mouth the word.

"I'm very hungry Potter." Draco said.

Harry nodded, he was thankful for anything to get him away from the horror of the bathroom. But something occurred to him. "Malfoy, you know, eating leads to—" Harry pointed mutely at the toilets.

"Jesus Christ Potter, have some class." Draco snarked.

Harry nodded again, and allowed himself to be pulled from the bathroom.

When Crabbe and Ron came back into the room, Harry had still not quite recovered. When Ron asked him what was wrong, he pointed at the bathroom door. When he heard Ron's high-pitched shriek, he knew that his best friend understood.

Later that night when Draco finally insisted that he could hold it no longer, Harry was very grateful that he was not Crabbe or Ron. At least, Draco had the use of both hands. They took one of their bed sheets, and Draco held it up between them primly while Harry peed. When it was Harry's turn, he tried very hard to be as mature about it as Malfoy had been, but ultimately freaked out.

"Malfoy, I can hear you pee!"

"What do you want me to do about it Potter? I can't not make noise. Anyway stop talking to me while I pee. It's very gross."

"What's gross is that I have to hear you."

"I had to hear you. How is it different?"

"This time it's me." Harry whined.

"You're pathetic Potter."

"Shut-up Malfoy."

In bed, Harry was unsure of what to do with himself. He found it impossible to discuss anything with Malfoy. He couldn't tell Malfoy, of all people, that he preferred to sleep on his stomach and toss his legs about at strange angles, so he lay quietly on his back and prayed for sleep to overtake him. It didn't, however, work. He was awake most of the night, desperately trying to keep his legs from accidentally touching Malfoy's legs, trying to will himself to sleep, trying to think of every possible embarrassing thing they would have to do the next day—in order to prepare himself for it. Malfoy on the other hand went to sleep right away. He shifted around a lot and Harry thought that even if he had been asleep it wouldn't have done him much good, as Malfoy would have woken him up every two seconds. All night Harry had to listen to his quiet breathing, interspersed with the heavy snores of Ron and Crabbe across the room. He was in his own, semi-private, hell.