Chapter Three

Harry woke up to feeling the cold wall against his cheek. He was pinned against the wall and under something. Someone, rather. Malfoy was all but on top of him with his legs wrapped around Harry's and face pushed in between his shoulder blades.

"Malfoy?" Harry's voice was so low that he wasn't sure if he'd made a sound at all.

"Hmm?" Malfoy said, but didn't move.

"You're kind of on top of me," Harry answered, still whispering.

Malfoy hummed and a moment later realised what had happened. "Shite!" he exclaimed and pulled himself away from Harry, almost tumbling off the bed as he stood up.

Harry turned around to look at him and Malfoy looked mortified. His face was flushed red and the left side of his hair was sticking up.

"Sorry, I'm just not used to— I usually sleep with a giant pillow—" Malfoy was struggling for words, and abruptly he turned and all but ran into the bathroom.

Harry laughed. He liked this side of Malfoy; the non-overly-confident not-so-stoic side. Harry took his time getting out of bed and stumbled over to the kitchen to make coffee.

Malfoy had managed to pack some provisions when he and Harry had gone to his flat the day before. Malfoy had an over-abundance of instant coffee with powdered cream. Harry wondered if there was some hidden magical energy in instant coffee that he didn't know about. He chuckled to himself and started to heat the water in a kettle. The stove seemed to be working and he'd found eggs and bread in the small supply box Malfoy had prepared.

The house belonged to him. The kitchen belonged to him, and Hermione had said that they needed to cook as much as possible to keep a bond with the house. It had been a while since Harry had made breakfast for someone, and it felt oddly refreshing to cook for Malfoy.

When Malfoy walked into the kitchen, he was wearing his Ministry robes and his hair was perfect. He smiled walking in, and Harry reckoned it was because of the smell of breakfast. It wasn't a very extravagant breakfast, but seeing Malfoy's face light up that way made it worth it.

"So a quick bite and then I'll hop in the shower?" Harry asked, and Malfoy nodded. "Do you take sugar?" he asked, pouring hot water over the instant coffee powder in the mug.

"No, do you?" Malfoy asked in return. "I didn't realise, I didn't pack—"

"It's fine. I can live without it for a day," Harry answered.

It was so weird. He and Malfoy had been left alone for a day—they'd slept in the same bed—and they were just so polite with each other. In the past, Malfoy had done just about everything to bring it out of Harry. Anger, rage, obsession, and he in Malfoy, but now it was so different. It was so cordial. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with Malfoy's training as a Reader. Did his training require him to be so patient? So prepared?

"You should go get ready, I'll clean up," Malfoy said as Harry got up to collect their plates.

"Your robes..." Harry protested.

"I've got a wand, Potter," Malfoy answered, rolling his eyes. Ah, there was the exasperated and annoyed Malfoy Harry was so used to.

"See you in a bit," Harry said and went off to shower. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with him. He brushed his teeth first, then settled under the hot water. His mind was racing a thousand kilometres per second. He tried to think about everything under the sun, but his mind kept on returning to the feel of Malfoy against his body. Malfoy's legs wrapped around his and his head resting on his back.

I usually sleep in the nude. Harry's cock jerked up again at the thought of what if Malfoy had slept in the nude the night before, how would his naked body feel against Harry's? Did Malfoy get hard in his sleep?

Fuck! Harry's thoughts betrayed him; his body betrayed him, and he was hard. He couldn't wish for his erection to go down and had to take the matter into his own hands. Literally.

He'd lathered himself up and the hot water poured over him as he grabbed his cock and started to stroke himself. It had been a while since he'd given himself a release. He'd been staying at the Burrow for the last few days and then last night he'd shared a bed with someone else. Someone he wasn't supposed to have an attraction towards, but he did. When had Malfoy become so delectable? Harry couldn't deny himself the need for him. They'd shared some sort of weird magical bond the night before, and then Malfoy had woken up practically all over him.

Malfoy didn't even know what he was doing to Harry, and they had only shared one day. How was he going to be able to do this for almost a month? Hopefully less if Malfoy had his way.

Harry tugged on his cock again, wondering how Malfoy liked it. Did he like it rough or did he shag all sweet and gentle-like? Harry tried not to think about the fact that he didn't even know if Malfoy liked men or women. He wouldn't have been as casual as he was with Harry if he was into blokes, right? But he didn't even seem to hesitate about sharing a bed. A normal bloke, a straight bloke would have hesitated, Harry thought.

Ron would have hesitated to share a bed with another bloke that wasn't Harry. Harry and Ron were practically brothers, but Ron wouldn't be so okay with sharing a bed with Neville.

Okay, so maybe Malfoy wasn't a homophobic prat. Malfoy wasn't any kind of a prat. Not anymore, anyway. Harry's mind was still racing and he kept on fucking his fist with his cock, imagining being pushed against the wall and Malfoy on top of him. Then he came, spattering all over the shower tile, whispering Malfoy's name, wishing Malfoy was there moaning Harry's name back.

One fucking night. He'd spent one night in Malfoy's company. How was he going to survive the next several weeks?

0-*0-*0-*0

Harry and Malfoy took the Floo to the Ministry where Harry headed off to see Hermione. Malfoy told him that he was going to meet him back there at half past five and then they could go to the market for groceries. Cooking dinner seemed like a good idea to Harry, and Malfoy had agreed.

Harry still couldn't believe that he and Malfoy were being so cordial around each other. Harry kept on waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it didn't. Two years away from everyone had changed Harry, and he supposed that he hadn't realised that it could change others as well.

Everyone was different after the war; why would Malfoy changing be so surprising?

Harry dismissed the thought when he arrived at Hermione's office. She gave him a hug and had him sit down at the sofa in her office. At twenty-one, Hermione was the youngest in the Ministry to have her own office with a secretary. "So how was it?" she asked.

"It was fine," Harry answered casually. "We slept in the same bed. I made breakfast this morning." Oh yeah, and I wanked in the shower wishing he'd fuck me into the mattress.

"I have to admit that I was sure that one of you, if not both, would walk into the Ministry this morning with a black eye," she said, and returned to her chair and sat, her arms folded over the desk.

Harry nodded.

"What aren't you telling me?" She raised an eyebrow and Harry was instantly reminded of McGonagall.

"Nothing," Harry said, shrugging.

"Draco isn't so bad anymore," she said, still assessing Harry.

"Do you know what he does?" Harry asked, remembering the energy that had jolted through his body the night before.

"The energy readings?" she asked, and Harry nodded. "It's really an amazing talent. You've really got to know what you're looking for when you can touch an object like that and feel the current flow through you."

"He's demonstrated it for you?" Harry asked, trying not to sound jealous.

"Once. I was trying to see if I could do it on my own. I was trying to look into an old family heirloom that Ron's mum gave me, but it doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to him." She looked at him again, pulling her chair closer to her desk. "Did he show you?"

"The house," Harry said, his breath caught in his throat. "I felt the house. He showed me what it wanted. What we—what I needed to do."

Hermione beamed. She released a sigh of relief—almost as if now she had someone else to talk to about it. "Ron won't let me do it ever again. Not with Draco."

"Do what?" Harry asked, his brows furrowed.

"Share the magic—the energy," Hermione said. "It's a really personal thing. When Draco showed it to me for the first time, I told Ron about it and he just got so jealous. He thought Draco had put some sort of sex spell on me. I felt very different for a while."

"Gross, Hermione," Harry said. He didn't need to know more than that. He didn't want to know that sharing the magic thing had made her horny. It'd made Harry horny, too. So was that why that morning—in the shower?

"I told him that he was crazy, of course. It was just transference of energy and people feel differently. I wasn't attracted to Draco, but it did shift something between us. We became friends. I would never— Besides, I told him how Draco didn't feel the same way about me. But Ron wouldn't let it go."

"Why wouldn't he feel the same way about you?" Harry asked.

"Because he's gay," Hermione said, like it was such common knowledge.

"He—what?"

"That's why he was okay showing me, because there was no attraction on either side. He just wanted to show me how it worked because I'd asked him. Energy reading is a type of gift one is born with, and his is very, very raw and natural. I trusted him because he's gay. I know that he wasn't trying to do anything to me—"

"And me?" Harry asked. What was Malfoy trying to do to Harry?

"Maybe he just wanted to show you. Guide you," she said. "You said yourself, you know what the house wants."

"So he wasn't trying to make me fall for him..." Harry whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

"I don't think he needs help in that department," Hermione said, her nose in her parchment.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So, I'll just be off then," Harry said and stood up. "I don't want to take any more of your time."

Hermione stood up again and came across her desk to give Harry a hug. "I'm glad you're back, Harry. I love seeing you, of course. I hope we'll see you more now. Now that you have a place to settle into."

"Yeah. If the house doesn't reject me."

"The house isn't going to reject you. It just wants to feel like you want to be there."

Harry nodded. He wanted to be there, but he was also afraid. What if he wanted to move on? Would the house try to destroy itself again? It was all starting to sound like a very unhealthy co-dependent relationship that Harry wasn't ready for. Maybe the next time he felt like moving, he'd just sell the place to someone who'd want to live there. Make it a real home.

Harry left Hermione's office and waited for the lifts to head towards the exit. When he entered the lift, a few people exited, and Harry found himself alone in the small space with a woman holding a pot of tulips and an annoyed look.

"Nice flowers," Harry said, wondering if this was the woman he'd heard about from Malfoy.

"Thanks," the woman said kindly. She gave Harry a soft smile, acknowledging who he was.

"Trouble with gardening?"

She released an exasperated sigh. "You have no idea." She chuckled and buried her nose in the flowers. "I've been told I don't care enough, and that my garden is apparently retaliating." She laughed when Harry gave her a quizzical look. "I would think he's a complete nutter for saying so, but I think he's right. The damn garden is like my ex-husband. Just doing its own thing and not responding to my touch."

Harry laughed outright at that. "What do the experts say?"

The woman sighed again. "Spend more time in the garden. Talk to the plants. Between my real job and my kids, I just don't have the time. Maybe I should just sell—"

"Sounds like you need an assistant," Harry said.

"Are you offering?" The woman immediately raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. "Why not? I could give it a go. I don't have anything else going on."

"With that kind of enthusiasm... Oh, what am I even saying? I'm desperate. I can't pay much..."

"I don't need much," Harry said, grinning.

"Hold this." The woman handed Harry the pot of tulips and searched her robes for a piece of parchment. "This is my contact information. I am at home tomorrow, so why don't you stop by? Ten o'clock?"

Harry nodded, taking the parchment and handing the flowers back to the woman. "See you then," he said as they parted ways.

0-*0-*0-*0

After leaving the Ministry, Harry headed to Diagon Alley. His initial plan was simple: look for a job and go shopping for the house. But now that he didn't really have a house—he had a one room flat that he currently shared with Malfoy—Harry decided to wander around until lunchtime.

After lunch, time only seemed to drag. He had no idea what to do for the few hours he had left before he had to see Malfoy and head home. Malfoy. Home. Two words he hadn't really thought he'd use together in a sentence before. What was he going to do tonight?

Would he tell Malfoy that he was gay and that the magic transference thing had left him freaked out? Even now, when he thought of Malfoy, Harry felt a weird sensation up his spine. Was it the magic, or was he actually attracted to Malfoy? Surely it hadn't been that long since he'd had sex with someone else that Harry was just feeling horny. He wondered if they woke up together the next day, would Malfoy be pressed into him again?

At ten past five, Harry decided to go to the Ministry. He was going to be early and maybe he'd see Ron or Hermione again. When he arrived, Malfoy was waiting for him.

"Am I late?" Harry asked, confused to see Malfoy.

"No. I just got out early," Malfoy said, sounding flustered.

"Oh. Everything alright?"

"Yes," Malfoy responded in a rush and Harry noticed the almost panic look Malfoy had on his face, but didn't comment on it.

They took the Floo to the wizarding market where Malfoy picked out the vegetables with care.

"Feeling the energy?" Harry joked and earned himself a glare.

"If you're not going to take what I do seriously, I suggest you rather not discuss it—"

"Oh, I take it very seriously," Harry said, teasing. Malfoy furrowed his brows at him. "It got me a job."

"I don't understand," Malfoy said, placing the cauliflower and the potatoes in the basket that Harry was holding. He selected the items, paid for them and used Harry as his own personal grocery carrier. Harry didn't show that he had a problem with it.

Harry reached into his pocket and took out the parchment he'd received that morning. "Sally Berkshire," he said, notably.

"What?" Malfoy reached for the parchment, but Harry yanked his hand away.

Malfoy glowered at him again. "How did you meet Sally Berkshire?"

"Met her in the Ministry lifts this morning. She was complaining about some nutter who told her that her garden was retaliating." Harry laughed again when he saw Malfoy scowl. "Don't worry though. She thinks you're right, and I offered to help her, and she hired me as her assistant."

"Brilliant," Malfoy said turning, and continued to walk through the lanes of the market, looking for more produce.

"Why are you so cross?"

"What makes you think I'm cross?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't have to read your energy to see the scowl on your face. You told the woman she needed help, and I happened to see her today and—"

"Potter, do you even know anything about gardening?" Malfoy stopped in his tracks and stared at Harry.

"It's been a while," Harry said, remembering how he used to maintain the garden at Privet Drive when he was younger. "But she'd teach me the basics, and from the sound of it, the garden just needs a minder. I'm free all day. It's not like I have a home to go to—this would just give me something to do while I wait for you to get off work." Blood hell, Harry thought, he sounded like a bored homemaker.

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but their quasi-argument in the market where they looked like a married couple shopping for groceries together came to a screeching halt.

"Draco, I thought I'd see you here."

The man was standing behind Malfoy, staring at his back. It was Dante, Hermione's co-worker who was also at the Weasley dinner the night before. Malfoy closed his eyes and hung his head low.

"I looked for you at your office, but you were already gone," Dante said, and Harry saw Malfoy make a face before turning to look at the man.

That's why he was standing around waiting for Harry, Harry realised. That's why Malfoy was hiding in the corner the night before at the Burrow. He was avoiding Dante. But why?

"Hello," Harry said, chiming in before Malfoy could say anything. "Dante Oswaldo, right?" Harry smiled and marched forward to shake the man's hand. "Draco and I were just doing a bit of shopping for the house. I didn't know you two worked together. I thought you worked with Hermione."

Dante shook Harry's hand reluctantly, looking a bit confused. Harry knew he was sounding like a possessive or interfering boyfriend. He wasn't sure why, but he just felt like he had to cut in.

"Yes. I work with Hermione. Draco and I are...friends," Dante said and gave Malfoy a sly smile that made Harry's skin crawl. "I was looking for you to see if you wanted to get a drink at the corner pub, but when I missed you, I figured you just came here for dinner supplies." Dante's attention was all on Malfoy, and it was as though Harry was completely invisible.

The man knew Malfoy's schedule. This was more than just friendship. Malfoy and Dante had a history. The day before when Harry had arrived at Malfoy's flat, Malfoy was expecting someone else! Harry's stomach burned with jealousy. He didn't understand why. Until yesterday, he hadn't even seen Malfoy for over two years, and now he was feeling so overprotective of him.

Malfoy cleared his throat before speaking. "I have to stay with Potter for a few weeks—"

"Right, Hermione told me about that. She'd asked for my help—"

"Yes. And thank you so much for your help!" Harry said, interjecting. "But if you really don't mind, I'm starving and Mal—Draco promised me dinner." Harry pulled on Malfoy's arm and all but hauled him away from Dante.

Malfoy willingly followed Harry and allowed himself to be dragged away. Harry didn't turn to look, but he was sure that Malfoy was smiling. When they reached the end of the road, Harry turned to face him. Malfoy's face was a cool mask, yet his eyes were shining.

"I suggest we Disapparate before your boyfriend comes chasing after you and we have to invite him to dinner."

"He's not my—"

"Malfoy!" Harry snapped.

Malfoy cleared his throat and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. He took a deep breath in and a moment later, they Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

0-*0-*0-*0

Harry offered to cook while Malfoy changed out of his work clothes. Truth be told, he was still aggravated over his encounter with Dante and Harry figured if Draco focused his energy on something else, perhaps he'd calm down.

He cut the cauliflower and potatoes by hand and waited as the oil heated over in the pan. He washed the rice next and watched as the water boiled. The sizzling onions over the cumin filled the entire kitchen with a pleasant smell. It'd been a while since he'd had one of his cooking sessions with Mrs Weasley and the thought made him smile. She'd told him that she was finally glad to have a son that took an interest in cooking and not just eating.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Malfoy asked, walking into the kitchen. He looked freshly showered, his hair tousled, and the black V-neck shirt he wore fit him quite well. Harry gulped as his cock twitched in his pants.

Honestly, you'd think I've never seen a fit bloke before.

"I took a few Muggle cooking classes last year. Hermione had bought them for me as a birthday present. Then I started sharing tips with Mrs Weasley, and the rest—" Harry shrugged, pouring a pinch of salt over the rice that was boiling and put a lid on the pot.

Malfoy looked like he was going to say something, but refrained. A moment later, he hopped off his seat. "Oh, I bought wine!" he exclaimed and rushed out of the kitchen.

Harry didn't mind watching him walk away, though, and then he mentally cursed himself for eyeing Malfoy. It was bad enough that he'd catch himself thinking about Malfoy at the most random times—he didn't need to do it consciously.

Dinner was quieter than Harry had anticipated it to be. His mind was racing trying to understand what had happened between him and Malfoy's magic the night before and what Hermione had told him earlier that day. Every time he looked at Malfoy to say something, Malfoy would take a giant gulp from his wine glass. Harry would watch Malfoy's Adam's apple and then turn his gaze away. He was sure Malfoy noticed his awkward behaviour, but didn't say anything.

"So, uh...what is supposed to happen to the house?" Harry asked, finally breaking the silence. "I mean, when it accepts that it's going to be a home, and all..."

Malfoy shrugged. "Not sure. My guess would be that the rooms would start expanding, the stairs will pop back up, but—"

"What?"

"I'm not sure what will happen to the furniture, the paintings, or any other decorations that were here before. I have heard of houses collapsing into themselves, but never seen one, and rarely are there any occurrences of it being back whole. There isn't much documented on what happens to the things—"

"I don't really care about the things," Harry said, finishing the last of his rice pilaf.

"So why do you want to be back here so badly?" Malfoy asked, his tone a bit irritated. Like Harry was really inconveniencing his life by making him stay there.

Harry pretended he hadn't noticed. "I don't know. Just wanted a place to belong, I guess."

"And you started with this house?"

"It's a part of my past, and a very important part, mind you..." Harry's thoughts trailed off to the war, to his parents to— Shite, he was tipsy. "What's in this wine?"

"Alcohol," Malfoy said dryly, and Harry snorted. A moment later, the irritated look that was displayed on Malfoy's face was gone, and he was grinning. Harry reckoned Malfoy was tipsy, too.

"So why don't you live at the Manor?"

Malfoy's expression sobered up again and he gave Harry a stern look. Harry was sure that he was going to bark out an insult at Harry rather than actually answer the question. He was wrong.

"I don't know...too many things," Malfoy answered, shrugging, and tried to pour the contents of the bottle into his glass before realising that the bottle had been empty for a while. He picked his wand up and summoned another bottle from the other room. Harry was impressed by Malfoy's ability to catch the bottle even in his inebriated state.

"You can always sell the stuff," Harry said, trying not to watch Malfoy's wine-soaked lower lip that he licked once or twice with his tongue.

Malfoy made a grunting sound, as if he was considering Harry's words and thinking about how to respond. "I suppose. Then it would just be an empty house with corners where Death Eaters gathered around and tortured people right before they kill—" The wine glass shattered in Malfoy's hand and it jerked both Harry and Malfoy out of their semi-drunken state.

"Fuck," Malfoy whispered. Harry immediately stood up and ran to him for aid.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's hand and with a flick of his wand, he stopped the bleeding. He knelt down on the floor and was face to face with Malfoy. "Here," he said, grabbing the napkin and pressing it to Malfoy's wound. "The protection charm stopped the blood for a while, but you'll need to keep this pressed on so the cut can close before the spell wears off. I need—"

"There's a potion in the cupboard, on my side of— It's antibacterial, it'll help," Malfoy said; his hand was on Harry's as they pressed on Malfoy's wound together.

Harry looked down at his hand but didn't remove it right away. "Right..." he said, hesitant to move.

"Potter."

"Okay!" Harry yanked his hand away and all but ran to the other room, to the cupboard, and found a small bag of various phials. He brought them all back to the kitchen table where Malfoy was sitting. "I didn't know which one—"

"The one with the navy blue cap," Malfoy said, and Harry hurriedly looked for it.

He opened the lid and dropped a few drops on Malfoy's reddening hand, and the blood all but disappeared. There was nothing left but a hint of a tiny scar on Malfoy's left palm; something that could easily blend in with the other lines.

"Thank you," Malfoy said, cleaning up the few drops of blood that had fallen on his trousers.

"Does this happen a lot?" Harry asked, standing up and gathering the empty plates from the table. He had been planning on making Malfoy do the dishes since he'd cooked and all, but figured it wouldn't be right given the man had just split his hand open. Besides, Malfoy wasn't his husband. Harry rolled his eyes as he turned his back to Malfoy. Where were all these domestic thoughts coming from?

"Does what happen a lot?" Malfoy asked, handing Harry the rest of the dishes, holding them only with his right hand.

"Breaking wine tumblers," Harry said, and gestured for Malfoy to sit back down on the chair. "You seemed awfully calm."

"I try not to think about the war while holding fragile items. Let's just say I've learned my lesson quite a few times," Malfoy answered and he Transfigured the broken glass into its previous intact state of a wine glass. He poured himself another serving and refilled Harry's glass as well.

"That's why you abandoned the Manor?"

Malfoy nodded and smiled. His hands stayed away from the glass for the time being.

"And this house? You're not reminded of the war here?"

Malfoy shook his head. "This house feels abandoned. But that's not the only feelings I get. I feel the negative vibes—haunting memories—but I also sense the good of the house. It was used as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, yes?" Malfoy looked at Harry, who simply stared back in amazement. "I sense that. Kinship, friendship, love..." He closed his eyes.

"Tonks and Remus," Harry mumbled.

"Weasley and Granger," Malfoy added.

Harry smiled softly and then he remembered what Hermione had told him earlier. Malfoy had shared a connection with Hermione, and he had a connection with this house, they both did. Harry turned to face the dishes piled up in the sink and didn't allow himself the chance to get jealous. There was no reason to feel jealousy. Hermione was with Ron and Malfoy didn't want her; but maybe it was the fact that Malfoy didn't want Harry, either.

Snap out of it, Harry told himself. You just met the bloke yesterday, of course he doesn't want you. You're just delusional, thinking you might want him.

"It's rare," Malfoy said, and Harry didn't turn to look at him. That didn't seem to faze Malfoy, though, who continued talking. "For me to have a connection with another Reader. A Muggleborn at that. I had never heard of it until I met her. I was told only Pureblood wizards who could channel this sort of magic."

"She said hers is not as strong as yours," Harry said without turning, and continued to scrub the dishes. He wasn't sure why he didn't just use magic for it.

"She's selling herself too short; she just needs practice," Malfoy said, shrugging. "I think she just doesn't want to do it. It might come too easy to her and she likes what she's doing. Helping others."

"Everything comes too easy to her," Harry said. He finished the last of his chore and sat across from Malfoy again, grabbing the glass of wine.

Malfoy smirked. "That's why she could pick to do whatever she wanted," he said.

They sat in silence again and drank the wine until the other bottle had also finished. "Should head off to bed," Harry said. "Got my new job and all." He stood up too fast and felt a bit woozy. It wasn't until he took a step towards the other room that he realised that he must have sounded like he was inviting Malfoy along with him. They shared the bed; how could he have forgotten that? It was all he thought about. "I didn't mean..." he mumbled.

"Didn't mean what?" Malfoy looked up sleepily. He hadn't taken what Harry had said the wrong way.

Harry didn't answer and kept walking. He reached the cupboard and grabbed some nightclothes and headed to shower. When he returned, Malfoy was already asleep against the wall. I guess it's my turn to sleep on the outside.

0-*0-*0

TBC