Harry let Draco carry on for a minute, revelling briefly in the soft texture of the blonde's fine hair, before pulling back.

"You need rest," said Harry gently , running a hand through his own hair to straighten it out. Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off. "Don't argue. You look like hell."

"Oh, and you're the picture of refreshed?" he retorted, but there wasn't any venom in it.

"Okay, so I could use a nap, too," Harry amended. "So, we'll go back to my place."

"Where, exactly, is it?" asked Draco suspiciously, "It's not your headquarters, is it?" Thankfully, it wasn't. Harry, even after a year to heal from Sirius' death, could only stay in the Order's headquarters long enough for a meeting. He had, after enduring many outraged comments from Mrs. Weasley, purchased his own place a few blocks down, which Professor McGonagall had put wards upon herself.

"No, it's not," said Harry, and after a few moments of hesitation, Draco joined Harry beside a dumpster. "Here, grab onto me, since you don't look up to Apparating." Draco agreed, and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "Okay," said Harry, "one-two-three-" On 'three', he Apparated, eyes tightly closed as he felt the still unnerving feeling of being run through a tiny tube.

He quickly regained the ability to breathe, and opened his eyes to see his living room couch, which he noticed detachedly was starting to sag after only a month of use. To his left were the small kitchen with lousy appliances that came with the flat and a bench with the stove and sink in the middle. To his right were two doors, one to Harry's room and one to the bathroom. Draco broke the silence.

"Beautiful. It's almost neo-grandma, with a touch of Helping Wands." Referring to the organization that gave out magic supplies to underprivileged wizards.

"Any more comments like that and I'll put you to sleep without the aid of magic," threatened Harry, only partly in jest. He pointed to the couch, which sported an ugly pattern of stripes and polka dots. "Now, go take a nap." Draco took a long survey of Harry, and the look on his face made Harry blush slightly. The blonde walked over and lay on the couch, striking a sarcastically seductive pose.

"Not unless you join me,." said Draco, grinning. Harry knew that if he joined him they would get no sleep at all, and they needed to be rested before the Order meeting. Many of the members would be shooting hostile glances and comments at them both. Draco saw his hesitation. "I won't put the moves on you. Promise." Harry sighed, then joined him on the couch, which gave a thunderous creak that startled them both. "It's not going to break in half, is it?" whispered Draco, as if talking loudly would make the couch more susceptible to cracking.

"No, this couch may be rubbish, but it's not going to break." said Harry. They were silent for a while, and Draco thought that Harry had fallen asleep, until he spoke again, "Not to pry or anything, but when did you decide to come to our side?" Draco sighed and unconsciously scooted closer to Harry.

"I guess I truly decided during the battle at Hogwarts," he began, his lips brushing Harry's ear, and Harry found he had to concentrate to hear Draco's words. "I mean, before, when I had to do things, like plan an attack or insult Gran-er, Hermione, I'd get this metallic taste in my mouth. I guess I always knew instinctively that it was wrong, but I thought that if I tried to help or even backed off the insults a bit, my father would find out. I guess I was pretty damn paranoid."

"Did he… hurt you?" said Harry, afraid of the answer.

"No, not really," Draco said, rolling so that his back was against Harry's chest. He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "Oh sure, he smacked me around a bit, but he really wasn't physically strong enough to hurt me. It's funny but, he used to be my hero." He waited for a response or insult, but Harry was silent. Draco ploughed on. "When I was a kid, he was so… powerful. He was strong, smart and wise; he always knew what to do. People always acted weird around us, but Father said they just didn't understand. It was the Malfoys against the world. He taught me self-reliance. That you don't let someone order you around for the sake of being better. Then," Draco's voice darkened, "He came back, and my father turned into a snivelling worshiper. He told me it was needed, that some day we wouldn't have to bow to him. I though he cared about me, and that's why I tried to protect him and Mother by doing what Voldemort said. At the battle I saw my father for what he was. A boot-licking coward. All I am to him is a way to earn respect. I pretty much decided when Dumbledore told me that I could still help the good. That it wasn't too late. You know the rest," he finished. Harry was quiet. "Well?" he prompted.

"You told me. I didn't feel the need to comment," said Harry, almost placid. His hand had a mind of its own, and it stroked lazily through Draco's hair. Draco gave a near-purr of content, all thoughts blown from his mind as he felt Harry's fingers on his skin, scooting closer to him still. They were silent for a while, until Draco fell asleep. Harry, however, lay awake, the events of the day playing through his mind. He could see himself, as if from some invisible bystander's point of view, pressing Draco Malfoy against an alley wall and kissing him roughly. Harry closed his eyes against it, but the images continued. He opened his eyes again, and stared down at Draco, who looked almost angelic in the half light. Before Harry could stop himself, he smoothed back some hair from his forehead. The blonde smiled in his sleep.

So, I'm… that way. Harry thought, shying away from the word 'homosexual', even in his thoughts. It wasn't a complete shock, he guessed. Now that it had been brought out in the open, he figured he had always known. Like his disastrous relationship with Cho Chang. It just hadn't worked, and besides her fixation with Cedric Diggory, this was probably the reason why. He didn't even what to think about that bizarre dream involving Oliver Wood in his fifth year…

Draco gave a sigh, and Harry smiled, drifting off beside the blonde. They slept like this for what seemed hours, and Harry, now hovering between sleep and wakefulness, didn't notice when his makeshift fireplace for flooing sprang to life with emerald flame, and someone stepped out, tossing their overcoat over the back of the couch. The sleeve smacked Harry's face, and he groggily lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun peeping through his curtains. He peeked over the back of the couch, careful not to wake Draco, who stirred slightly.

"Harry I — oh my God!"