Harry ties the promised letter for Ron and Hermione to Pennywort's outstretched leg, pulling his fingers back in time to avoid being bitten—again. She's an adorable, spotted little thing with an unfortunate tendency to nip if the stroking isn't hard enough to her liking. A tad on the puffy side, she's squat with big moon eyes that look up at Harry with equal parts adoration and irritation. She's sweet enough, if a bit beaky, but she's a Malfoy owl, and Harry supposes that makes her high-maintenance on general principle. He looks into her eyes and purposefully doesn't think about Hedwig. He can never replace her, not ever, but he does think it's possibly time to consider her successor.

He makes his way to the dining room (he's late for breakfast—again), when he spies Draco just about to enter himself. Draco stops and appraises him as Harry approaches.

"Good morning, Harry." It might be his imagination, but Draco's standing a bit taller, as if there was nothing in the world to weigh him down.

"Morning, yourself. I hope your Mother won't be offended that I'm late. I sent off a letter to Ron and Hermione this morning. Much thanks for the use of the owl, by the way."

"I don't think she'll be too upset. She dotes on you, you know." Draco's smile is soft. "And she's not my owl. She's yours."

Harry's brows furrow and he shakes his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Draco explains, "that I bought her for you. That first night you arrived. Mother attended to your chambers and wardrobe, and I procured Pennywort on the off chance you wanted an owl of your own for private correspondence. She's rather special."

"She is," Harry says fondly. "It's a little bittersweet for me. After I lost Hedwig, I never bought another. Couldn't stand to. Hedwig meant too much to me."

Draco's eyes are bright and shining and he steps forward, bringing his body perilously close to Harry's. "I knew that. And that's what makes Pennywort so special. I acquired her from Hedwig's breeder."

Harry feels part of his face go slack. Draco's words are implying something, yet Harry can't fathom what he's hearing. "Wh—what are you saying?"

Draco's voice rumbles with pride, "She is from the same line. Pennywort is related, albeit a bit distantly, to your Hedwig. That's why I chose her." He's grinning now, pleased with himself, and by Merlin, Harry is pleased with him as well. "Plus, she's absolutely precious. Even if she bites."

"I'm enamoured of her already," Harry replies. The warmth he feels inside seeps out into his tone. "Thank you, Draco. It means more than you know."

Draco's eyelashes flutter and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "Anything to be in your good graces, sir."

Harry sucks in a breath and his groin tightens. Draco's absolutely coquettish, and instead of it being simpering and annoying, it's incredibly arousing. Partly because Draco is gorgeous, and partly because Harry thinks he actually means it. He's not above a bit of flirting, not when he knows he's going to have Draco naked and panting in a few hours. Harry leans in and whispers huskily in his ear, "Draco Malfoy, are you trying to seduce your Master?"

Draco's grin is as bright as sunshine. "Maybe."

"You cheeky git."

His eyebrow quirks and Draco replies soberly, "I am still me, Harry."

"Praise Merlin," Harry breathes out. "I don't want you to ever lose who you are." He sniffs and stands back. "Now let's get something to eat. I'm starving."

When they enter, Harry is surprised to see Neville chatting quietly over breakfast with Narcissa. His eyes automatically go to Draco to appraise his reaction. His step falters a bit, nothing more. He greets his mother with an affectionate kiss to the cheek and his words for Neville are reserved, but filled with genuine warmth.

Draco takes his seat at the table, and as Harry nears the head, the chair scoots back, causing Neville's fork to stop mid-way to his mouth. He blinks twice and then shoots Harry a sly grin. "Well, that's interesting," he says with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Harry scoffs as he sits, "Don't even start, Nev."

"Sure thing, Harry," Neville chuckles.

Harry takes a breath and puts his napkin in his lap as Blinky pops in with plates for Draco and himself. He finds Narcissa's gaze over the table. "I suppose this means you and Neville are headed back to the greenhouse today?"

"Yes, Neville says he's done a bit of research, and we're going to delve further into the mystery of my silent roses." Her voice is even, but Harry can see a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

"Speaking of which, we should get started." Neville sets his napkin on the table and pushes his chair back. He reaches for Narcissa's hand to assist her in rising. "Shall we?"

She smiles, nodding. "Blinky has our coats waiting." They turn and head for the hallway, and Narcissa calls over her shoulder, "Have a lovely day, boys."

Harry sneaks a glance at Draco, expecting to find him fuming at the interaction between Neville and his mother.

"Don't say it," Draco says, mouth in a firm, but resigned line. "I can see it, but perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away." He closes his eyes and sighs. "Yes, that's what's going to happen."

Harry spears at his eggs. "'Fraid not."

Draco groans, and the sound makes the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand at attention. "We really are going to be overrun with Gryffindors, aren't we?"

"I don't know," Harry says, studying the way Draco's hair is falling softly into his eyes. "Might not be so bad."

Something in his tone gets Draco's attention because his eyes snap to Harry's, heated and full of interest. His lips curl, and it makes the tightness in Harry's groin unravel and snake through to his spine.

"Might not," Draco agrees.

They enjoy their breakfast in relative silence, and are about to part ways when Blinky barrels into the dining room as fast as her little feet can carry her, tripping over the frills on today's sunshiny frock.

"Master Harry! Master Harry!" she huffs breathlessly, "There is being a Weasley Auror—"

Her exclamation cuts off as Harry hears from the hallway, "Harry! Harry! Where the hell are you, mate?" Seconds after Ron's booming shout, he tumbles into the room. Before Harry can utter a word, Ron's got his wand out, trained on Draco, whose eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "Stand back, Malfoy!" Ron shouts. "Just get away from him!"

The moment Harry spies the trajectory of Ron's wand, he places himself in front of Draco. "Have you lost your mind? Put your wand away!"

"It's alright, Harry. I'm here. Come on, I'll call for backup if I need to." Ron's gesturing with his other hand for Harry to move forward.

"Lower your wand, Ron!"

"Has he cursed you? Hexed you?" Ron shakes his head. "Never mind, we'll get you to St. Mungo's, just come on."

Harry takes three good strides until the tip of Ron's wand is embedded in his chest. Ron's eyes go wide and sharp with surprise. "Harry?"

"I swear to Merlin if you don't put that thing away, I will throw you out on your arse!" He leans in to punctuate, "Lower. Your. Fucking. Wand."

Ron's arm drops to his side and he stumbles back, confused. "What—just what the fucking hell, Harry?"

Harry turns back to Draco, who is smiling like this is the best thing he's ever seen. "Would you mind?" he says, jerking his head to the door.

"And miss this?" Draco folds his arms over his chest and shakes his head. "Not a chance."

Harry glares at him. "Please, Draco." His tone isn't at all pleading, but it seems to satisfy Draco, who sighs loudly with annoyance.

"Fine."

He steps out from behind Harry and levels a dazzling smile on Ron. "Good to see you, Weasley. Please give my regards to your wife."

"Wh—what?" Ron splutters. "How do you—what, you know Hermione now?"

Draco's laugh is utterly mocking. "Of course I know your wife. I'm a Death Eater with money. And your wife is Undersecretary to the Minister of Finance. Surely your tactical brain can put together how our paths might have crossed."

"You—you've talked to her?" Ron's glaring turns suspicious.

"Talked to her?" Draco scoffs. "We've practically been in each other's pockets the last eight months. She tells me you've been under the weather. Touch of the flu, was it? I daresay you're looking hale and hearty."

Ron goes paler than Harry's ever seen. "How—how did you know about that?"

"It could be because I talk to the woman. We have lunch every other Monday. She handles my Ministry Oversight Portfolio."

Ron looks to Harry. "Did you know about this?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nope. This is the first I'm hearing about it."

"Why do I not know about this?" Ron says, deflated.

"She didn't tell you?" Draco's voice is filled to the brim with sarcastic astonishment. "Can't imagine why."

"Draco," Harry warns. "Stop it."

Draco makes a face at him. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you?" He wrinkles his nose and sighs. "Alright, I'm leaving." Draco shoots Ron a withering glare in passing. "Welcome to my home, Weasley. Don't fucking touch anything."

"That's enough, Draco."

He waves a hand in the air. "Yes, yes." He pauses, "Oh, and tell Hermione I'll expect an update on the November investment schedule. It's been over a month and Entwhistle is still putting me off, the pedantic bastard. She said it would take two weeks. She owes me a curry."

Draco leaves Ron gaping after him, and Harry runs a hand over his face in consternation. Really, it could have been so much worse.

The doors shut and Ron stammers, "Owes him a—? What the bloody hell just happened?"

Harry frowns, grabs Ron by the arm, and shoves him into the adjacent sitting room, pushing him toward the sofa. "Get in here, you idiot." Ron falls into the cushions and levels Harry with a stare. "Don't look at me like that. You came barging into someone's home and started waving your wand about. You're in the wrong here."

"It's Malfoy," Ron hisses in return.

"I don't give a shit who the fuck it is," Harry spits back, getting in Ron's face. "What the hell do you think you were doing, pointing your wand at Draco? You're an Auror, for fuck's sake!"

"Draco? Draco?" Ron coughs. "It's fucking Malfoy, and I'll point my—" Ron's eyes go wide like saucers, like he's just discovered something monumentally important. "Merlin's left nut, you're shagging him, aren't you?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, no I'm not."

Not yet.

"But you want to," Ron says, scrutinizing him with a squint. "I knew he was always a poncy git, but I didn't think he was, you know, your sort."

Harry growls at the implication. "Be careful, Ron. You're treading dangerously close to insulting."

Ron waves him off. "Oh, hell, Harry, you know what I mean."

"Still doesn't make it anything but rude." He steps back, crosses his arms over his chest and glares. "I'd like to know what possessed you to come here."

"What was I supposed to do?" Ron throws exasperated hands into the air. "I mean, you tell us you'll owl, and we don't hear from you, you're not at home, you don't have an office anymore—Circe's tits, man, you practically disappear, and I find out you're here, of all places!" His eyes go soft around the edges, and Harry sees the long-time friend lurking beneath. "Christ," he mutters, "I thought something had honestly happened to you. I wasn't going to stand for it. You should know that by now."

"And you should know by now that I can take care of myself. My letter was specific on the point that I am fine." He grinds out the last three words just to see Ron shrink. It always takes beating him over the head with the obvious to make a point. It's Ron's way, and Harry knows it, but he doesn't have to be happy about it. "You could have owled, or firecalled, or I don't know," Harry's voice drips with sarcasm, "knocked on the fucking door like a normal person."

Ron's sheepish frown takes over the whole of his face. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, yeah?" He fidgets under Harry's stare.

Something suddenly occurs to Harry, and his arms fall to his sides. "She doesn't know you're here, does she?"

He can see the moment it clicks into place for Ron, because his eyes grow wide and terrified, and his mouth falls open on a gasp. "Merlin, she's going to kill me, isn't she?"

Harry raises an eyebrow and nods in response. "Once she knows you barreled in here like a bat out of hell, flinging your wand in someone's home, someone she apparently knows rather well, I'd say yeah, you're in the shit."

"Well, you're not going to tell her, are you?" Ron looks deeply concerned. He should be.

"I'm not going to lie for you, but I won't offer it up, either."

Ron sags against the sofa, exhaling sharply. "Thanks, mate."

"But I can guarantee that Draco will," Harry replies. "He'll have no compunction about telling Hermione about your little visit, and will probably elaborate on the degree of your stupidity. It will amuse him greatly."

"Oh, fuck me. I'm dead." Ron buries his face in his hands.

"Not if you tell her first. Which I would. As soon as possible."

Ron nods. "You're right. The little shit will make it worse than it is." He grimaces. "Bastard."

Harry only smiles at that, because Ron's probably right. He doesn't think Draco will lie, but he certainly won't paint Ron's outburst as misguided loyalty, either.

Ron's finger waggles in the air. "I can see it on your face. You may not be shagging him, but by Merlin, you want to." He narrows his eyes. "In fact, you're probably planning on it."

"Again, none of your business."

Ron goes quiet, watching Harry with focused intent. His Auror face. He's calculating, deducing. Coming to a conclusion.

"I'm going to have to get used to staring at his pointy face for the rest of my life, aren't I? Because this is different. You're different. He's not some bloke you picked up, like Owen. I think you've been waiting for this. Waiting for Malfoy. But you didn't know it, not until now."

It's scary how perceptive Ron really is. It's what makes him so good at his job, Harry thinks. He doesn't have to expound on it, but he doesn't have to deny it, either.

"I don't know," Harry says. "But the possibility is there, so yes, for the time being, attempt to acclimate yourself."

"But it's Malfoy!" Ron whines, as if the statement explains everything.

"No," Harry says firmly, walking up to Ron. "He's Draco. And you're Ron, and I'm Harry, and the war—the war is fucking over. We've all moved on in every other way. Let this one go, too. For me."

Ron stands and looks him in the eye. "Fine. If that's what you want, fine." He grumbles under his breath. "Better than Owen Redfield at any rate."

Harry frowns in question.

"Oh, come on. You know we all hated Owen. Even Seamus hated him, and Seamus likes everybody." Ron sighs. "You're staying, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Ron gives him a long, searching look before stepping back. "Okay. I'll deal with this. I don't have to like it, but I can deal with it. I can handle Malfoy." Ron sticks out his hand. "No hard feelings?"

Harry grabs it and pulls him into a hug. "No, you daft git. But you will owe Draco an apology." Ron huffs and nods. "A sincere one."

A begrudging noise that sounds like 'fine' comes out of Ron's mouth.

"Go home. Talk to Hermione before Draco does."

"Okay, okay," he says, sidestepping Harry, "but if I turn up missing, then know she's killed me and disposed of the body."

Harry grins. "I'll make sure Kingsley launches a full-scale investigation."

He calls for Blinky, and she escorts Ron out of the room. He collapses onto the sofa and rubs a tired hand over his face. It'll take Ron a bit, but he'll come around. He usually does. A smile plays at the edge of lips. He hopes that Ron doesn't run into Neville anytime soon and ask him what he's been up to. Because Neville is as honest as the day is long, and Harry thinks that particular truth just might send Ron round the twist. At the thought, Harry throws back his head and dissolves into furious snickers.