"Haven't seen Zion in a while," said Harry.

"Hm?" Draco didn't look up from the tattered copy of High Fidelity he'd pilfered from Harry. The two of them were on the couch in Grimmauld Place's drawing room, whiling away some more of Harry's paid time off.

"I said that I haven't seen Zion in a while." Harry reached over and poked Draco in the ribs. Draco scowled. Harry recognized it as malice-free.

"There are kinder ways to get my attention, Potter," Draco pointed out.

"Yes, but they weren't—oh. Right. I'll try to remember that." Harry ignored the blush rising to his cheeks and the smirk on Draco's face as he tugged the book out of Draco's hands and tossed it on the floor. "You're on page 79."

"Do you not believe in bookmarks?"

"Waste of time. I have a great memory." Harry closed the gap between them, scooting over far enough to rest his head on Draco's shoulder. "Anyway, where is he?"

"Where is who? Oh. Zion. I don't know. The Manor, most likely."

"It sounds like you forgot that you even have a pet."

Draco shrugged his shoulders and slung his arm across the back of the couch. Harry, taking the hint, snuggled closer. Draco kneaded Harry's shoulder with fingers so nimble they would've been frustrating had they been in contact with anyone or anything else. At least, that was how Harry saw it.

"It pains me to say this, but I believe that Zion may not be as useful as he once was," said Draco.

Harry snorted. "Useful? Pets aren't meant to be useful. They're meant to be friends."

"Sap." Harry could practically feel Draco's smirk. "This isn't to say I dislike Zion. He's a fine and noble creature."

"Right. Like Mal," Harry said mock seriously. The dog was on the floor near their feet, gnawing furiously at a length of rope.

"Exactly like Mal. At any rate, though, Zion served his purpose. And I have to admit I'm much fonder of what he led me to than what he provided, in terms of companionship."

"Was that a very Malfoyian way of saying you're glad we're together?"

"What do you think? Do you think?"

Harry smiled and looked up at Draco. "Thanks for teaching me how to bargain for an extra few paid days off."

"It wasn't bargaining. You just needed less than three days to actually complete your assignment, and now you have two more and a weekend to debrief. That's all. And you're welcome."

"Well, one and a weekend, really. It's Friday. And we spent all of Thursday doing this kind of thing."

"And what kind of thing is this?"

Harry gestured at Draco and himself. "Loafing. I think that's what Aunt Petunia called it whenever I stayed in bed past 7."

"I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I suppose it's easier to say than listing off all we've done."

"Which is...?"

"Snogging. Reading. Eating, Watching that awful film I had you turn off 15 minutes in. More snogging. Napping. Trying very, very hard to shag and failing bafflingly and miserably every sodding time. Should I go on?"

Harry groaned. "Look, it's not you, it's—"

Draco tugged on a particularly unruly strand of Harry's hair. "I know it's not, and I know what it is, and you know I'll make it special, so let's forget I complained about it, OK?"

"OK." Harry made to stand up and Draco pulled him back down.

"Don't leave. I'm comfortable."

Harry laughed. "I just wanted to make us some ... what meal happens between dinner and pre-bedtime snack?"

"One, 'pre-bedtime snack' absolutely does not qualify as a meal. And two, the meal where you stay here and read to me."

"That doesn't qualify as a meal, either."

Draco leaned down to kiss Harry. "Can it now?"

"I suppose." Harry picked up the book. "Page 79, then?"

"Page 79. He's a bit of an idiot, isn't he?"

"Rob? You think so?" Harry thumbed through the book and got back to where Draco had left off.

"He gets a bit hung up on everything."

"Who doesn't? We—I do it all the time." Harry laid his head in Draco's lap and looked up at him.

"I'll acknowledge that I have a tendency to do the same," said Draco, smiling slightly. "But we're quite a bit younger than Rob. We've got time to fuck up yet."

"I don't want to be one of your fuck ups, Draco." Harry didn't mean to say it out loud, but he couldn't help it. Damn his insecurity. What if Draco forgot about the drawings and Disney and all the sincerity and, fine, pure happiness they'd packed into the last little while? Or what if it didn't mean to Draco what it meant to Harry?

Draco rolled his eyes, but the smile remained. "I know you don't. And you won't be."

"I just wish..." Harry reached upward and traced Draco's jawline. "Look, I know not everyone is so upfront with their feelings as I am. And I know you never will be. But I just ... I want to make sure."

"Of what?"

"Of the fact that this might actually be the most satisfied I've ever been with life, and that you feel some of that, too. Or something like that."

Draco sighed. "They should really be calling you The Boy Who Doesn't Believe He Deserves Relationship Security." He pulled Harry's hand away from where it was just far enough to kiss it.

"It's not very catchy."

"I'm not as upfront as you are, no. But I do experience emotion. And I do feel the same way."

"Even the 'most satisfied I've ever been' part?"

"Yes, that especially. But don't tell anyone. I've an image to uphold."

Harry grinned at Draco. "Can we do something else? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the book, but—well, fuck it, it doesn't have to be that special, does it? Isn't it going to be special enough that it's you and me doing it?" Harry stood and pulled Draco by the hand.

"Here, then? A special first time shag in the drawing room?" Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry.

"Well, upstairs, I guess, would make more sense. I don't know. I've never—"

"Yes, you have."

"Not here, I haven't." Harry paused. "It—this is—was my place. It wasn't ever his."

"You never asked him over?"

Harry shook his head and began walking toward his bedroom. Draco kept pace. "I mean, he's been here, sure, but I was living with him. Then when that was over I came back here and it's home now. Always was, really." Harry smiled wryly. "If 'since I was 15' counts as always."

"So you didn't want to sleep with him here?" Draco asked.

"No, though I'm not completely sure why. It just ... it seemed like I should be serious about a person before we played house here."

"You are aware that we've played plenty of house here, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Of course I am." He looked sidelong at Draco, who couldn't mask his pleasure at hearing that. They ascended the stairs hand in hand and Harry walked into his bedroom. Or, as the case may have been, their bedroom, seeing as Draco had seen fit to fill it with ... things when Harry wasn't looking.

"Candles," said Harry. "They're everywhere. And they're levitating."

"That's very observant of you," Draco said. "Now, they would qualify as special, right?"

"Oh, I don't know if the candles would on their own, but the wine and the treacle tart—you found a wine that pairs well with treacle tart?"

"I don't know, you'll have to test that out yourself."

"When'd you set this up?"

"You fell asleep while I was reading," said Draco. "That was about, oh, four hours ago. I'm not bad with the sort of magic required of a housekeeper. Don't tell a soul." He paused. "You didn't answer my question. Is this special enough for you?"

"You were already special enough on your own, Draco Malfoy," said Harry, leaning in for a kiss.

"No." Draco looked mildly horrified. "Not after you said that. Any arousal I could have claimed before is dead and gone."

"Oh, so you're allowed to do something sentimental as this, this with candles and wine and dessert and what looks to be a stuffed skrewt/flobberworm hybrid—where'd you find that, anyway?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Anyway," said Harry, "you're allowed to be all big and romantic, and I can't say a single sentimental thing?"

"That'd be a fair point if you weren't always saying—"

Harry cut him off and, this time, Draco relented.