Summary: Harry comes home to a messy flat
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Harry walked into his shared flat and almost walked out again. There were takeout containers, food wrappers, and several bits of used tissue on every available service. The kitchen was a disaster—how had his flatmate managed to dirty every dish they owned in a matter of hours?
Slamming the door shut, Harry shucked his shoes—even thought he didn't really see the point now—and headed toward the hallway.
"Draco?" he called out to his roommate and sidestepped a pile of dirty clothes. "You better get out here and clean up your mess! And you better not Aveda Kedavra the dishes again." He knocked on the blond man's bedroom door and it slowly slid open. "We just got new ones as is," Harry muttered to the dark room as he slipped inside.
He scanned the perfectly pristine room, noting that not a single thing was out of place. There was a small lump quivering on the far side of the bed.
"Draco?" Harry asked, already feeling like a heel.
When there wasn't a response, Harry tiptoed closer to the man. "Draco?"
As if a trance was broken, Draco jumped to his feet with a choked, "Harry," and ran into the dark haired man's arms, forcing him to cuddle. Not that Harry wouldn't have held him willingly.
"Draco, what's wrong?"
"They killed him," Draco whispered, sounding so very small.
Harry fought to keep from reacting as tears fell from the other man's gray eyes and soaked into his jumper. Lucius. Oh Merlin, the anniversary was today?
"I'm so, so sorry," Harry murmured and rubbed the blond's back in soothing circles.
"I just can't believe they shot him."
Harry stopped his ministrations and stared down at the former Slytherin. "Wait, shot? Who got shot?"
"Old Y-y-yeller," Draco stammered around another sob.
Harry really should have been mad that the flat was a mess and the blond had spent his day watching movies—he should have been frustrated in the very least, but somehow, snuggled up to Draco, Harry found that he really didn't mind.