Disclaimer: JKR owns all HP characters and settings etc. They are not my dollies, I simply stole them and played with them for a short while. Only the plot belongs to me.
Rated: M for language and some sexual situations.
Warnings: There will be slash/ malexmale/ yaoi/ whatever you want to call it. Basically, if you are a homophobe, I don't advise reading this story. Also, for some, there may be unbearable amounts of fluffy relationship stuff that may induce vomiting and/or blindness. Have a nice day.

Post-DH but NOT epilogue compliant. There may be some spoilers.

Harry hummed happily along with the music that was playing out of the ancient radio sitting on a small, carved bedside table in Sirius' old bedroom. He had long since claimed the room as his own sleeping quarters when he had moved into Grimmauld Place permanently; and was currently haphazardly throwing his robes and school books that he had scattered around the room, back into his school trunk. He glanced out the window at the darkening sky and checked his watch. Fifteen hours and forty-three minutes until he would see Draco on the Hogwarts Express again. Not that he was counting or anything. Grinning, he packed the last of his textbooks into the side of the case; threw in a couple of spare pairs of socks and locked the trunk with a flick of his wand.

He and Draco had managed to sneak away together twice more during the break; it was all that Draco had been able to manage, and in a small way, Harry was grateful for the infrequency of their meetings. The number of bruises Draco left on his neck and collarbone had increased with each visit; and he'd forgotten to cover them up the first time he'd stopped by at The Burrow; just a few days after Draco's second appearance at his home. He'd had a hard time explaining the purple blemishes on his throat to Hermione, and he was pretty sure that she still didn't believe his feeble excuses.

Not that he didn't enjoy spending time with Draco. Quite the opposite in fact. They still talked to each other; but the majority of their time was spent in Harry's bedroom. Still reserved about and – although neither would admit to it – a little afraid of doing… well, that with the other,they hadn't even undressed one another yet; merely indulged in a simple exploration of each other's upper bodies with their hands while their hips repeated the experience they'd partaken in on Year's Eve and their lips and tongues barely straying from their counterparts; severing the connection between them only to gasp for lost air when necessary, or to let out moans and profanities that they hoped to Merlin nobody else could hear.

Harry shut off the music buzzing quietly in the background, and glanced out the window of his bedroom at the dark street below. It was nearing the end of January and frost littered the concrete pavement outside, twinkling in unison with the stars under the artificial orange glow of the muggle street lamps. There had been a few flakes of snow that year, but not enough to cover the ground; and Harry found himself almost missing his past Christmas' at Hogwarts, where snow had always fallen aplenty in the grounds, every year, without fail. He sighed and turned away from the view of the deserted street, waving his wand and shutting the heavy scarlet curtains that still adorned the old window frames. His gaze flitted around the "Gryffindor shrine" as Draco had called it when he first set eyes upon the room that Sirius had decorated to flaunt his allegiance to the rival house in the home of his Slytherin-orientated family. Harry wondered if the blond had decorated his room in a similar fashion to Regulus' old room; they were from the same bloodline afterall. But eventually he dismissed the thought as he climbed into the shower; Draco would never have put anything so 'personal' in his room.

-x-

In the Malfoy Manor, Draco was supervising the packing of his trunk; occasionally glancing in the vague direction of the two tiny family house-elves currently sorting various belongings into his school trunk. He could have easily have done it himself by magic; but try as he might, the objects always ended up in a jumbled mess; never in the neat, orderly manner that he so desired. Besides, the elves seemed to get some sort of strange pleasure from ordering, organising, folding and eventually packing most of his possessions into his school trunk. He didn't want to deny them of that distinct happiness; even if they did wear a look of mild terror on their faces as he over-looked their activity.

He looked around his own room; it was as empty and cold as the rest of the manor. Like living in a museum of some kind, everything in the enormous house had belonged to one of their ancestors, or been propositioned from a famous old wizard generations ago, and usually served only one purpose; to show off the vast fortunes and impeccable taste that the Malfoy family possessed. The manor lacked a 'lived-in' atmosphere as nothing - aside from the various magical oil portraits depicting Draco and his parents – was personal to the current occupants. They could so easily have been visiting the home of the Malfoy ancestors from their own abode elsewhere.

The blond-headed boy sighed; which caused the tiny elves to let out a squeak of fright and begin wondering what they had done to anger the young master. He waved them on to continue packing his trunk, flicking his wrist lazily in their general direction as his thoughts turned to Harry, as they were prone to do nowadays. A small smile graced his aristocratic profile as he pictured Harry in his own room; surrounded by a frenzy of Gryffindor-related décor. He could confidently predict that the other boy would indeed have used the spell that would have allowed him to pack his trunk with a wave of his wand – at first. After a couple of failed attempts he would have given up and done it the muggle way, like he had always done. It was one of the traits that Draco found so endearing about Harry. His muggle habits were so deeply ingrained into his nature; just as several of the Malfoy habits were ingrained into Draco's own personality; they contrasted beautifully. As much as it had been drilled into him; Draco couldn't bring himself to find Harry's non-magical customs 'filthy'. He loved the way Harry would do things by hand, preferring to work at simple things like making a cup of tea, rather than just wave his wand and let the magic work itself. There was a kind of beautiful passion in the way Harry moved and worked without magic. It wasn't that he was filthy and stupid; it was that he cared to put effort into the smallest task; Harry had the kind of character which meant he could do everyday tasks with feeling and emotion; which was something entirely new to Draco. The wizards he had been brought up around rarely did everyday tasks and if forced to, did so with a kind of resigned disgust as they lazily flicked their wand in the direction of the chore. More complicated spells were done with an air of disdain for those who couldn't perform them; which concealed their smug demeanour as they shamelessly flaunted their skills, without appearing to. They used magic for absolutely everything; and it lost the appeal that it had for wizards like Harry, who didn't rely on their magic to get them through everyday life; and still treated it as a gift, rather than a right.

Draco blinked to find the two house elves bowing before him and squeaking about having packed his trunk and run him a bath; and enquiring if there was anything else their young master desired. He thanked them and waved them away hurriedly before their eyes could widen at being appreciated for their work by a Malfoy. They disappeared with twin 'cracks' as Draco moved through to his private bathroom; quietly lamenting that he couldn't run his own bath, just for the thrill of not using magic or servants, just once.