I wake the next morning with a thumping head and a dry mouth. I mentally probe my skull, and am glad to find that the pounding is only in my temples, and nowhere near that old injury. Seems like Malfoy's spell held -

Malfoy. My eyes snap open as memories from last night come flooding back. I look around the room I'm currently in, the bed I'm laid on. Yep, all decorated in dark greens and darker woods.

Shit.

I tried to kiss Malfoy last night.

No, says a nasty little voice from a dark corner of my mind, a voice that always sounds scarily like that bloody locket. You tried to fuck Malfoy last night. And, worst of all, he turned you down.

I groan and roll over, pulling a pillow over my face, willing it to just suffocate me. It doesn't help. The pillowcase smells of apples and cedar, a scent that is so thoroughly Malfoy that I almost throw the damn thing across the room in my haste to get it away from my head. I force myself to breathe slowly as I think about how to handle the situation. Maybe I can pretend that it didn't happen. He'd said I stank of alcohol last night, maybe I could play it off?

OK, yeah, that's not such a bad idea actually. I could go out there, pretend that I don't remember anything about last night, and say ... say that my mum is expecting me for lunch, so I'd better go home and make myself presentable. That sounds plausible enough.

I ease myself up and pull on last night's clothes from the heap I'd left them in next to the bed. I straighten and stretch, wincing at the dull ache in my head, then make my way out into the hall. It's very quiet in the flat, and I stumble towards where I remember the kitchen being. I freeze in the doorway.

The room is empty. I listen intently, but I can't hear any noise anywhere in the flat. My eyes fall to the kitchen table, and I notice there's a note, a small vial, a teapot, a mug, and a plate waiting there. The plate is piled with bacon, eggs, sausages, beans and toast, and I approach it cautiously. It smells wonderful, and when I hold my hand over it I can feel the tingle of a warming spell that's been placed on it. I grin and pull out a chair, shoving a piece of toast into my mouth as I read the note, written in his now-familiar spidery scrawl.

Weasley,

Sorry I couldn't be here when you get up, I had an emergency call in from the hospital this morning and I'm having to leave early. I've made breakfast, and there's a hangover potion in the vial. Don't rush to go, and if you're still hungry there's cereal in the cupboard next to the sink. The house will lock itself up after you leave.

~ DM

I reach for the little vial of purple liquid as I read the note again. There's no mention of last night, no mention of yesterday at all to be exact. And, maybe worse, there's no mention of tomorrow. It's Monday tomorrow. Rita's Cafe Day. My stomach churns a little as I turn this over in my head, despite the effective hangover cure and the delicious breakfast I'm ploughing through. I sip at a cup of tea for a long time, debating whether I should leave him a note in return.

But without having seen him, I have absolutely no idea whether he remembers last night. I realise that I don't even know if he'd been out drinking himself. But if he hadn't, how had he run into the team, to realise that I wasn't with them?

My head is too fuzzy for all of these questions. I give up, and finish my breakfast, then wash the dishes carefully and stack them in the spotless dish rack. I smile to myself a little as I look around the room. The lack of clutter on the counters, the furniture pushed neatly against the walls, the fridge front bare of any postcards or magnets, it all just screams Malfoy. He's such an organised, no-nonsense person these days, and his house is a true reflection of that. But despite its slightly clinical layout, the place has a softness, a warmth to it, and I recognise that as a part of him, too. I feel quite privileged to be allowed to see this side of him.

It's this thought that makes me decide, there and then, that I'm still going to Rita's tomorrow. If he doesn't show up, then I'll have to deal with the knowledge that I've lost - pushed away - a friend, someone who I was starting to rely on. If he does show up, and I don't, then I can't imagine the damage that would do. That strange protectiveness I'd felt yesterday, when Harry was making digs at him, flares up again. I try to ignore that it feels connected to something deep in my chest, telling myself that it's just my usual compassionate nature. Ron Weasley, champion of the down-trodden.

My mind made up, I make one last sweep of the kitchen with my eyes, ensuring I'm leaving the place as tidy as possible, before I head for the front door. Back to my own place, where no doubt an interrogation awaits.

I get away with the rest of Sunday pretty lightly. When I arrive back at Grimmauld Place, I find Ginny alone in the living room. The look she gives me coupled with the sounds of wretching from the first floor bathroom tell me that Harry is in a much worse state than I am. I sink into one of the big black sofas, just as the Boy Who Lived himself shuffles down the stairs. He looks pale, pathetic, and his blood-shot eyes are pleading as he falls into the sofa opposite mine and begs Ginny to make him some toast. She rolls her own eyes, but I know she can't be that mad as she chooses to flounce off into the kitchen rather than immediately hex him.

'What happened to you last night?' He's holding his head as talks, as though worried it might explode if he lets go. I grin at his discomfort, using it to hide the anxiety that his question causes. I don't even know how to begin explaining my connection with Malfoy, never mind that I spent the night in his bed. Never mind that I tried to -

'I, er, ran into a friend,' I say quickly.

'Anyone I know?'

'No, I don't think you'd know this person.' That's true, in a way. He looks a little confused, but then shrugs, apparently not willing or able to expend the energy on questions any longer.

Ginny marches back into the room, and he simpers at her as she drops a plate full of hot toast in his lap. I prepare myself for harder questions, but she just glowers at me and growls, 'At least you're in better shape than him.' And with that, she turns on her heel and stomps upstairs.

'Trouble in Paradise?'

'Fuck off,' he grumbles through his toast, and I just chuckle as I get up and follow my sister from the room.

I spend the rest of the day in my bedroom, sleeping fitfully and worrying about the next day. I only come out to grab a quick snack every so often, eager to avoid the Third Wizarding War that sounds like it's kicking off in the rooms above.

Monday finally dawns, and I'm already restless by 9am. I pace the house, trying to do some of the housework, much to Creature's dismay. The third time he asks me to please stop helping, I grudgingly hand back the feather duster and try to distract myself in the living room instead.

I pick up some paperwork I'd brought home on Friday night, but I can't concentrate on the words. The report isn't due til tomorrow anyway, so I figure I'll be able to focus on it better when I get back from Rita's, as I'll have an answer then, one way or another. An answer to what, though, I'm not 100% sure.

I pick a book from the many that fill the bookshelves, the ones that Hermione keeps here for when she uses the place as a bolt-hole between whatever country she's just come from and the next one. But the book is some old romance novel, and the pages are so thin from being turned so many times that I nearly tear them with my nervous hands. So I abandon that, too.

I'm in the kitchen, sipping on my third cup of tea and about to return to pacing when heavy footsteps clatter down the stairs, and Harry appears in the doorway.

'Morning,' he grumbles as he heads for the kettle. 'Did you see Ginny this morning?'

'Oh yes,' I say, darkly. The cloud that had been hanging around my sister's head as she ripped through the kitchen this morning had been a big one. I've never witnessed such a violent breakfast. 'What did you do?'

'Long story,' he sighs as he makes himself a coffee. 'She accused me of being immature and thoughtless, and I may have made some immature, thoughtless comments about her wanting to marry me anyway and what that said about her.'

'Ouch.'

'Yeah. I think the icing on the cake was when I called her Molly.' I gape at him.

'And you still have your balls?'

'Barely.' He eases into the chair opposite me and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. 'I've got a shitload of sucking up to do.'

'Start with dinner at Pictsi.' He looks up at me sharply, and I roll my eyes. 'She has oh-so-subtly been telling us what they are serving there every weekend for the past year.'

He frantically grabs for a piece of parchment and starts penning a reservation request, then looks up at me again. 'When did you start paying attention?'

'In case you haven't noticed, I've recently decided to take my head out of my arse. Might not be a bad idea for you to so the same.' He rolls his eyes, but goes back to his letter. I look at the clock on the wall - it's now 11am, and as I pass him I say, 'Make sure to use your title, Golden Boy. That'll get you a table any night of the week.'

He's so preoccupied that he just mutters, 'Good idea,' and I chuckle on my way out of the house. It's a hot day, and I leave my jacket at home and decide to walk to Rita's. I'm walking fairly slowly, but I still arrive with fifteen minutes to spare.

She raises her eyebrows when she sees me arriving first, but I just wink at her as she turns to fill a tea pot for our table. I sink into my usual chair, and pass a couple of minutes with her as she tells me about her little one and what mischief he's up to this week. Soon, though, she's dragged away by other customers, and I'm left staring at the door.

Five minutes pass. Ten. Twenty. I check my watch again at 12:15, and raise my eyes to Rita, who's leaning against the counter. She looks a little worried herself, but just shrugs helplessly at me. The knot in my stomach tightens, and I chew my lip, now significantly more anxious. What if he doesn't come? What if something's happened to him along the way? If Harry's opinion of him is anything to go by, there are still those who don't want to see that he's changed. What if -

The bell above the door tinkles, and my heart speeds up. There he is, in the open doorway, framed by golden sunshine. His thin brown jacket and dark blue jeans give him contrast to the light, but his pale skin and hair blend with it slightly, giving him an almost ethereal look. I feel that tug behind my navel again, and I try to control the blush spreading up my neck at the sight of him.

He's staring at me warily, his silver eyes somewhat guarded. I hold his gaze, wondering if he'll turn and walk out, but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs, and enters the cafe, greeting Rita warmly on his way past. She raises her eyebrows at me behind his back before she disappears into the kitchen. My eyes slide back to him as he shrugs off his jacket and slips into his chair.

'You're late.' My voice is hushed, and I can hear the hurt in it. He looks away, seemingly indifferent.

'Yeah, sorry I - '

'That concern for other people's safety?' His eyes snap back to me at the harsh tone in my voice, and he seems surprised as I lean closer to him. 'That works both ways, Draco. You can't just worry about others and not expect them to care about you.'

His jaw drops, and he seems genuinely at a loss for words for a moment. Then he straightens himself and holds my gaze again. 'You're right. I'm sorry.'

'S'alright.' I relax and lean back in my chair, fiddling with my fork. Yesterday's resolve to feign ignorance seems long forgotten as I hear myself say, 'Look, about Saturday - ' He holds up his hand, and a grin slides easily onto his face as Rita appears from behind me, pasties and a fresh pot of tea in hand.

'Everything alright, Loves?' The concern is evident in her eyes as they move between us. He picks up her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it.

'It is now that you've delivered us such a heavenly feast.' He beams up at her, but even I can tell that she isn't entirely convinced. He squeezes her hand reassuringly. 'Everything is fine, Rita. I promise.' She looks into his eyes for a few more moments before she nods, stroking his cheek softly as she heads back towards her counter.

'She really cares about you,' I murmur as we watch her go.

'I started coming here when Dan ... when things got a bit rough.' I turn back to him, and he's already cutting his pasty in half as he talks. 'She saw me pretty broken up. I think she's worried about seeing me that way again.'

I ignore the lurch in my stomach at all of the possible hidden meanings his words could have, and instead focus on my pasty. There's a slightly strained silence between us as I eat and he drinks his tea, an atmosphere that had disappeared many weeks ago. Finally, with no more pasty left but still feeling empty, I try again. 'Draco - '

'I like it when you use my first name.' His voice is amazingly quiet, but his words cause me to stumble over myself as though he'd screamed them. I feel myself blushing furiously, but plough on.

'Well, probably about time I did, since I've stayed at your place now, and all. About that, I just wanted to - '

'Please don't apologise. You were quite drunk, I understand.' He's still not looking at me, and it hits me in a rush that maybe he wasn't rejecting me on Saturday night. Maybe he thought that the only reason I did what I did was because I was drunk.

This thought shocks me. Surely ... surely that is the reason. Right?

Bug then again, maybe not. When I really think about it, maybe something has been brewing here for weeks now. And that electricity I feel between us, that can't be nothing, can it? Holy fucking shit, is this going where I think it's going?

'I don't know ... ' I swallow thickly. 'I don't know if it happened just because of alcohol.'

His eyes raise suddenly and fix onto mine, and I feel a slight version of that charge run between us, making me shiver.

'Don't say things like that if you don't mean them.' His voice is cautious, but there's a huskiness to it that makes me bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.

'I ... I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel in these situations. But, the worry I felt when you were late, the relief I feel when I'm around you, the excitement I get when it's coming up to Monday again ... I don't get that feeling with anyone else.' I've given my brain complete control of my mouth, and I'm just as surprised as he looks by what's coming out. 'But I also have no idea how to find out if this is something, or if it's just because you're the first person who's ever been able to really understand what I'm going through.'

He watches me cautiously, and I hold my breath as he considers what I've said.

'There are ... ways that we could find out,' he says slowly, toying with the crust of his pasty. He's eaten most of one half, and the other is already wrapped in its napkin. 'But I don't know if you'd want to find out.'

'Do you?'

'Yes.' His voice is very quiet again. 'But my last relationship ended very messily, and ... well ... I'm scared.'

'Draco Malfoy, scared?' I try to lighten the mood with the tease, but he gives me a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

'Yes, Ronald, I'm scared. Because if this is something else, then I'm potentially opening myself up to heartbrake again. And if it isn't something, then I'm potentially losing one of the closest friendships I've had in years.' I feel my own heart break at this, at the confirmation of my suspicions about him being lonely. I reach across the table and grasp his hand, ignoring the thunder it sends through my bloodstream as he looks down at freckled skin over pale fingers.

'If it's not something, I won't stop being your friend.' His eyes are still guarded as he studies mine, but whatever he sees there seems to convince him. He sighs, and turns his hand over to squeeze mine briefly before he lets go and reaches into his jeans for his wallet. I open my mouth to offer to pay, but he shoots me a look and I just raise both hands in surrender.

He smirks, the first sign that he's starting to feel calm again, and we both get up and make for the door, blowing kisses to Rita on our way. She grins at us, clearly happier to see us both more relaxed.

Then we're staggering out into the bright sun once more, and I hear a soft sigh from beside me. I look down, and he has his eyes closed, his face turned towards the sun. The light is glancing off his pale skin, and his lips curl slightly at the sides in a satisfied smile. He looks so peaceful in this moment, so at ease. He's beautiful.

Fuck it. I dip my head and press my lips to his.

And everything inside me explodes.