Summary: In the third year of the war, Draco is discovered as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Snape brings him to Grimmauld Place for safety. But months of being locked in a house with Potter take their toll, and soon both boys are in over their heads.

Pairing: Harry/Draco. If you don't like it, don't read it.

Warnings: Sexual content. Language.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything affiliated with his world belong to J.K. Rowling.

Betaed by YaoiFanGirl101

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The mood was much more somber a few days later. They had received a message from Moody saying the Ministry had been attacked, and both Fudge and Scrimgeour were dead. Over fifty Ministry employees were injured or dead.

To top it off, the new Minister was Rueben Glasglow, a recent Death Eater recruit. After hearing the news, Potter looked angrier than Draco had ever seen him.

He didn't even pull Draco aside for an angry shag. Slightly miffed, Draco retired to his room.

Three hours later, Granger pounded on his door.

"Where's Harry?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Malfoy, where is Harry?" Draco noted she must be very upset, because this was the first time since she decided to call him Draco that she had slipped.

"I don't know, I haven't seen him since he stormed out of the kitchen this morning."

"I can't find him, we've looked all over the house, I'm afraid he's left and done something stupid."

Draco swore. "Kreacher!" He ignored the 'pop' and the bow that signified the elf's entrance.

"Where is Potter?" he bit out.

"The half-blood is leaving two hours ago, Master."

Granger looked at Draco, her eyes panic-stricken.

"Oh Harry," she moaned.

"Do we have any way of tracking him?" A shake of her head, and Draco swore again. The pair of them had unconsciously exited his room, and were heading for the kitchen. They met Weasley in the kitchen, looking as nervous as Granger.

"Is there anything we can do?" he asked her. Draco looked Granger as well, hoping she had a plan. When Granger didn't respond, Weasley went back to pacing. Draco sunk down into a chair and balled his fists, thinking furiously. He didn't notice when Weasley and Granger left the room.

If Potter had gone out and done something stupid, they were all screwed. That bastard better be all right, the fate of the Wizarding world depended on him. Maybe they were overreacting, but it was nerve-wracking having the one man with the power to defeat the Dark Lord missing and possibly dead. Weasley and Hermione looked as if they were going out of their heads with worry. Draco himself was worried too, slightly more than was possibly warranted for simply a childhood nemesis turned fuck buddy.

When Granger screamed, Draco raced downstairs. He took in the sight of a bloody and mangled Potter leaning on Weasley. That could not be good.

"Granger, where are the healing potions?" He just couldn't bring himself to call her Hermione.

"They're in my bathroom, get the blu-"

Draco didn't wait to hear; he knew what potions to get. He got back as quickly as possible and pushed Wealsey aside. Potter had passed out, which wasn't a good sign and would make it harder to give him the potions.

"Oi, what are you doing?"

"Weasley, relax, I know what I'm doing, I was top of our year in potions."

"No, Hermione was."

"We tied most of the time, actually, except sixth year," Granger chimed in.

"Which doesn't count, because of Potter." Granger voiced her agreement.

Draco turned out the conversation after that, and focused on administering the right potions to Potter.

Weasley and Granger had long since gone to bed when Potter stirred. Draco had actually gone up to bed and then came back down once the other two were asleep. He had an image to uphold, after all.

They had moved Potter into the sitting room, and he was laying on one of the couches.

"Potter, are you alright?"

""m thirsty," he croaked. Draco hurriedly summoned a glass of water.

"Here you go, Potter." Potter drank the whole thing in a few gulps.

"What happened?"

"You tell me, you disappeared and then came back bloody and almost unconscious."

Potter winced. "Are Ron and Hermione mad?"

"They're relieved, you had them worried out of their skulls." And me out of mine, Draco added silently. "So what completely Gryffindorish thing did you do?" Draco asked. "Try to take on the Death Eaters single-handedly?"

Potter was silent and refused to meet Draco's eyes.

"Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana, you did, didn't you? You complete and utter fool! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I was tired of sitting on my arse while innocent people died."

Draco put his head in his hands.

"Potter, if you die, we're all fucked."

Potter didn't answer, he just gulped down a second glass of water. Draco picked up his head and sighed. He said, "Get some rest, Potter, you need to recover."

Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Draco silenced him with a look. Potter subsided and closed his eyes.

Draco let his head drop back into his hands. If denial was a river in Egypt, he'd been swimming in it for ages. Sometime along the line, he had started to care about Potter. Draco was an expert at hiding his emotions from other people, but even he wasn't a good enough liar to hide them all from himself. His heart had almost stopped when Potter had stumbled in bloody and passed out.

He was falling in love with Harry Potter. Which was not good. This was a wartime romance, it wasn't going to last once the Dark Lord was dead. They had both been perfectly clear on that score. Besides, Potter still hated him.

Draco chanced another look at Potter. Bad idea. Even passed out, the git looked good. His hair had the messy look from after a fight, and it looked so much better now that he'd started growing it out. The scrape down his cheek didn't take away from his looks, only added to it. And Merlin, how Draco wanted to kiss those perfectly pink (only slightly chapped) lips.

Draco got up, it was suddenly too warm in the sitting room. He stopped at the door and muttered, "Goodnight , Harry."

Draco wasn't sure what made him call him Harry, but he knew he wouldn't be able to go back now, at least not in the privacy of his own mind.