Disclaimer: I'm just a talentless hack who can't create her own characters. All belongs to JKR.

"I need to go to work." Harry watched Draco for any signs of acknowledgement. The other man was sprawled elegantly across the cheap couch reading, lending it an air of luxury the way only Draco Malfoy could. "Draco?"

The name still felt strange in his mouth. He couldn't count the number of times he had used it in his head in the last six years, but he had never spoken it out loud.

"Draco! I'm talking to you!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter," Draco feigned indifference, but Harry saw a small frown crease his forehead. "I heard you." He didn't look up from his book.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to continue reading this fine work of Tolstoy," Draco answered absently. Harry glared at him. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated his slender figure, lighting up his hair and turning it perfect pale gold. He looked flawless. Harry hated it. He had seen himself in the mirror that morning. He looked like he'd just worked sixteen hours straight. He had huge purple bruises under his eyes, and his flesh was pasty. This morning, it seemed, he couldn't kid himself that this wasn't the way he always looked.

It wasn't fair! Draco shouldn't look so good for someone who had collapsed on his doorstep just two hours ago. Now, fitted up in Harry's clothes, he looked as perfectly groomed as he always had.

Except for that final night…

Harry put it out of his brain, snapping at Malfoy irritably. "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"

Draco looked up, caught by surprise at the question. His eyes were full of silver fire from the morning sun. "Am I getting too much for you already, Potter?"

Harry noticed the avoidance. "Stop changing the subject, Draco, and you promised to call me by my name."

"Well," Draco sniffed, letting his copy of War and Peace fall onto the couch by his side as he swung his legs into a sitting position, "if you don't want me here, I'll go. Just thought it would be nice to drop in on the Boy Who Lived after six years. Six long years," he emphasised, "years of complete radio silence on your part."

"Don't call me that." Harry snarled. "Ever."

"Touchy," Draco snapped, standing up. "As I said, if you find my presence so repulsive, I'll leave you in peace."

Harry was about to snap out a retort when he realised what was happening. He stared at Draco, his mind a whirl of confused thoughts. How had this suddenly blown up into an argument? He hadn't wanted it to go like this! "Draco…" he began, reaching out a hand to touch the other man's arm. Draco jerked away.

"Keep your mudblood hands off me, Potter," he spat viciously, his face contorted by a sneer. He seemed to change then, suddenly, and stepped back from Harry, his eyes widening. "I-"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Harry said, his voice remarkably level. Anger sunk into him like an icy ghost, filling him with cold fury. "Shut up and get out of my apartment!"

"But-"

"Don't talk!" Harry was fuming. His head felt light on his shoulders, but his hands hung heavy at his sides. The heat was rising in his cheeks. "Just get out!" He hadn't changed! After the supposedly caring, remorseful Malfoy façade slipped, he could see Draco just hadn't changed.

The other man stiffened, squaring his shoulders. He tilted his head back. "If that's the way you want to be, Harry Potter," he said with an audible effort, "it's your funeral." He snatched his heavy cloak from the back of the couch and swung it 'round his shoulders. "See you in Hell."

Harry thought he detected a break in his voice, and watched Draco as he strode away and slammed the door behind him, leaving a sudden hole in Harry's life.

Author's Note:

Thanks again, guys! The reviews are great. I'm really enjoying writing this, my first story for You rock!

And I can't spell prodigious. Damn. Well, it's my own arrogance – I don't spellcheck my work. I hearby apologise for all the typos and errors I've made already. I'm such a n00b.

Jen

xox