It's a Long Story

Honestly, Potter was a good flatmate. Or, Draco assumed he was a good flatmate. He had never lived with anyone before aside from his parents (who didn’t count) and Astoria who was perfect. But if he imagined how it would be living with Theo or Blaise, then he could safely say that Potter was the better option. 

Aside from constantly pestering and asking if he needed anything from town every single morning, he pretty much left Draco alone. After his request to stick his head out the window when smoking, Potter had taken to sitting out on the roof when lighting up and even extended the invite for Draco to join him on occasion. He never did, of course, but he appreciated the offer. 

Not that he would ever tell Potter that, because they were not friends.

Not even a little bit.  

Even if he did stop blasting his strange muggle songs late at night, or early in the morning because Draco had asked (demanded) him to. 

There was no blasting of any songs really, which was perfectly fine with Draco. He didn’t miss it. Not at all. Really. It was easier to think without the depressing songs constantly blaring. Easier to fall into a routine that was uninterrupted with Muggle Depression Music (what a sub-genre.) Which he did. They both did.  

Without actually discussing things, the two easily figured out a schedule that worked for them. Potter was a night owl who had started taking Atlas out for evening strolls. Though he hadn’t needed to, Potter also started feeding Atlas his dinner, allowing Draco to sit down with a nice book and a tumbler of fine whiskey and settle in for the night while his dog was otherwise occupied and spoiled. He suspected this was so Potter would win Atlas’s favoritism, but it wasn’t working so he wasn’t going to intervene. 

Draco, on the other hand, was an early riser and enjoyed a morning jog with his familiar, which meant there was always a fresh pot of hot coffee waiting for Potter when he dragged his arse out of bed. And occasionally there would be breakfast (to the slight protest of Kreacher), if Draco’s morning runs took him by a bakery (which they often did.) They both picked up after themselves (much to the dismay of Kreacher). Potter would bring home dinner every day (again, to the dismay of Kreacher).  

To thank him for this, without actually thanking him, Draco took it upon himself to remove the old screaming portrait of Walburga Black (surprisingly not to the dismay of Kreacher.) He then decided to spiff up the place. The decor was truly horrid, old and dusty. There was a layer of grime that never seemed to leave no matter how many cleaning spells he used, and it was just easier to replace it all. Except the long table in the dining hall which Potter was strangely attached to. 

In return, Potter gave the place a fresh set of paint. All while never actually discussing what they were doing with one another. Luckily Potter had enough sense about him not to paint the walls in Gryffindor red or he would have found himself living alone once more because there was no way Draco would put up with such an atrocious color. Thankfully Potter had decided to use a soft yellow in the kitchen, a muted sage green in the areas with lighter wood and a flat-Prussian blue where the wood was darker. 

It was actually starting to look somewhat decent. 

Livable at least, and Potter seemed… better the last few days. Less mopey. In fact, Draco would have never guessed just by looking at him that he was a man fresh off a horrible heartbreak. But he had seen his face two weeks ago when it had first happened, and he had watched him drink himself into a stupor in the days that followed. He was there to witness Potter crumble in on himself and descend into chaos.

Draco was actually starting to get worried about him. It would not bode well for him if Potter suddenly succumbed to his depression and heartache while he was living with him. No one would ever believe he had nothing to do with the untimely demise of the world's favorite wizard. 

He was so worried about it in fact, that he even thought about reaching out to Potter’s so-called friends and request (demand) they come immediately and fix him! Only, he had no idea how to get a hold of the Weasel and Granger. And honestly he was surprised he hadn’t seen either one of them. What good was it being part of the ‘Golden Trio’ if two of them were awol? 

Not that his own friends were much better, but that was different. 

Sorta. 

Not really. 

Draco’s friend circle was… for lack of a better word, infiltrated. His friends before Astoria consisted of Blaise, Theo, Pansy, and on occasions Daphne. Daphne, being Astoria’s sister, obviously was going to remain loyal to her and Pansy was loyal to Daphne. Blaise was still dating Pansy and that complicated things, while Theo was his own agent. They had all sent a letter of condolences about their break-up, except for Theo who only sent a bottle of fine whiskey, but he hadn’t actually seen any of them. 

Then there were the friends who he met with Astoria, their mutual friends, and it was quite clear what side they took. Not that he was requesting anyone take a side, it was just the sort of thing that happened in a romantic split. It wasn’t like a marriage where they could share custody of a child, there were no custody arrangements for friends. But there was still a choice one had to pick during such times, and it was clear no one was picking him. 

Draco couldn’t blame them, he would have chosen to remain friends with Astoria too had that been an option. She was kind, smart, funny, intelligent, and easy to be around. He held no illusions of how people saw him— but Potter was different. 

Potter had friends. Tons of friends. Surely they would not all take the Weasley girl’s side of the split. He might have understood not seeing the brother of the woman who ripped his flatmate's heart out, but Granger? 

Little Miss I like to stick my nose in everything? Fucking, I have a ridiculous and over-reaching heart for all things pathetic. Golden Girl extraordinaire, who personally launched a “free the house elves'' campaign when they were still at Hogwarts? Defender of the little guy and supposed best friend of Boy Wonder.

Yet where the fuck was she? Why wasn’t she there for him? 

Why was it Draco who was picking the oaf off the bathroom floor every other night because he had drunk himself into a vomit induced state and subsequently passed on on the loo’s floor. 

Why was it that Draco was forced to make small talk with Scarhead just to ensure he had some type of verbal communication on a daily basis? 

Why was he the one in charge of helping Potter through his fucking heartache while his own heart was still busted?! 

And where the fuck were Potter’s friends!? 

“You alright mate?” Potter’s gravely morning voice pulled him from his musings. 

“I’m not your mate.” Draco snipped, pulling down the largest of mugs to make himself a cup of coffee. It was early still and he had just gotten back from his morning run with Atlas who was still recovering in the foyer, his panting echoing down the hall. 

“Hang on, why are you up so early?” 

“I wake up early all the time, Draco.” He could almost hear the eye roll in his tone but Draco ignored it in favor of fixing his coffee just how he liked it. Splash of milk, dash of cinnamon, and two sugars. 

“Not since I’ve been here you haven’t.” Which was true, he hadn’t. Not unless it was Draco waking his arse up because he passed out in the bathroom again. 

“You’ve only been here a few days Draco, don’t act like you know my routine.” 

“First off, it’s been two weeks.” He turned to look at the specky git who was pouring his own cup of coffee now, he took his black, which was appalling. Potter thought so too, if his wince was anything to go off of, so why he insisted on drinking it that way was beyond him. Taking a rather dramatic sip of his own (putting on a bit of a show if he was being honest with himself), Draco leaned against the counter as he looked over his flatmate. He was well put together for it being so early in the morning. Merlin, he was well put together considering it was Harry Bloody Potter, whom Draco had only ever seen in some sort of disarray or another for the majority of their acquaintanceship (Yule Ball excluded of course). 

“Second,” Draco drawled, “it isn’t hard to learn your routine when you literally do nothing outside of this place except for work, which I know for a fact doesn’t start for a few hours.” 

Potter refused to make eye contact. Which was curious. “Yeah, well–” he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck “–I have things to do this morning.” 

“Like?” He didn’t really care, but Potter was acting weird and Draco didn’t like weird. 

“You know, for someone who keeps claiming he’s not my ‘mate’ you sure are curious about what I do with my time!” 

A singular brow lifted on Draco’s face as he watched Potter. He took another drink of his coffee, refusing to take his eyes off of his flatmate knowing the lout would eventually feel bad at snapping at him. He always did, and he always apologized, even when he shouldn’t. Draco wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t apologized to the Weasley girl for her blowing up their relationship. But that wasn’t something he was going to voice out-loud. 

He was, however, extremely curious to know how Potter managed to become an Auror if he was apologizing all the damn time. Or how he managed to avoid getting sorted into Hufflepuff. 

“Sorry, I just–” and there it was “–I’m just–” Potter sighed, his shoulders slumping some. “I’m up early because I have someone coming over for dinner tonight and I wanted everything to look nice.”  

Draco almost scoffed. Everything was already tidy, so what in Merlin’s name Potter thought he had to do was beyond him. Or why he felt there was a need for it… and then a thought struck him. 

Did Potter have a date?

It seemed a little fast, considering only two weeks ago his heart was ripped out by the supposed love-of-his-life, and up until a few days ago he was still drowning in his sorrows and cheap whiskey. “On a work-night? How scandalous, Potter. Should I make myself scarce for the evening then?” 

“It’s not like that.” Potter snapped.

Was he supposed to ask why? Because he wasn’t going to. Of course, he wasn’t above some gentle prodding in hopes to find out why it wasn’t like that as he so elegantly put it. “Is this someone of the female persuasion?” 

“If that’s your way of asking if this person is a woman, then yes. Yes they are.” 

“Then it’s exactly like that, Potter. And good on you.” Draco lifted his mug up as if to cheer him. “You’ve been entirely too mopey, a good romp might do you some good. Especially if it means you’re no longer going to be dressing in rags.” He motioned to his outfit, because that was a question he had been dying to ask since he first saw it. Now it made sense. 

Potter had a date. 

Good on him. 

Really. 

“I told you, it’s not like that.” Draco raised a quizzical brow but didn’t deign to answer. “I mean it. In fact, I was hoping you would join us.” 

“Oh? And when were you going to run this by me?” Draco didn’t really care, but Potter was still acting strange and it wasn’t sitting well with him. 

“When she was already here and you couldn’t say no.” 

How very… Slytherin of him. The fact Potter somehow held traits from every Hogwarts house (except for Ravenclaw because Potter was exceedingly dimwitted) would always be a marvel. Perhaps he could be studied by an unspeakable upon his actual death. 

“I know we do not know each other all that well, Potter, but I can assure you I’m not now, nor have I ever been, interested in Ménage à trois. I’m rather— possessive – of the people I’m with.” 

Potter almost had coffee spewing from his nose at that comment. Thankfully, he managed to contain most of it in his mouth as he coughed and sputtered through whatever stupor Draco had thrown him into. It took almost a whole minute before he could finally speak audible words again. 

“For fucks sakes!” he coughed out, his face an atrocious shade that was not all that dissimilar to his Gryffindor red. “I meant to join us for dinner , Draco!”

Draco laughed. How could he not? Potter looked so rightfully offended that it was impossible not to, but he sobered quick enough. Opting to take in Potter one more time. He was wearing trousers that actually fit and didn’t hang loosely on him, though they were likely still Muggle. His shirt wasn’t ratty, faded in color, though it was still less fitting than what Draco would call adequate. His glasses, which Draco had noticed had a thin layer of tape in the middle just a few days ago, were now fixed and even his hair seemed like he had attempted to run a comb through it. 

“Are you sure it’s not a date?” 

“Positive.” His tone had a sense of finality to it, but Draco still questioned it. 

“Then why are you going through such extremes?” 

“Because I don’t want her to worry.” He said it so softly that Draco almost missed it, but he hadn’t, and because he hadn’t missed it Draco now had questions. More questions than he had answers to. 

The first being who the hell would Potter care enough about to make himself look presentable if it wasn’t his mother (which unfortunately was impossible) or a date? There was only one other person who Draco had ever known Potter to dress up for, and her name inflicted a sinking feeling in his gut. 

“Fuck.” Draco sighed, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. “Potter, please tell me you have not invited your ex over for dinner.” Surely he wasn’t that daft? 

Right?

Although, he did willingly walk to his own death without drawing his wand… so…. 

“WHAT?!” Potter sputtered again, this time some coffee did manage to make its way out of his nose. Poor sod. “What in Merlin’s name made you think that?” 

“Do you want the honest answer, or should I coddle your feelings?” He asked, conjuring a napkin for Potter so that he could clean up his mess. 

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to be nice.” 

“It might. I haven’t tried it, so we can’t be sure.” 

“You’re such a prat.” 

“And yet, you begged me to move in with you. A bit pathetic on your part really.” 

Potter rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe that’s how that happened.” 

“Regardless, it is, and you did. Now you have to live with the consequences of such horribly thought out groveling.”

“Or I can realize my error and kick your arse out.” 

Draco shrugged. “Sure, you can do that. Been waiting for you to come to your senses anyways.” 

The thing was, Draco didn’t actually want to go. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford a place of his own, because he could, about ten times over and still live comfortably for the rest of his life. But as loathed as he was to admit it, he was lonely and Potter made things a little less so. But he’d be damned if he had to sit in on a dinner, in a place he was currently calling home, with the twat who quite literally ruined his happiness.  

Potter might be easy to forget and forgive, but Draco was not. 

“It’s Hermione.” Harry blurted as Draco was about to leave the kitchen. He stopped and turned back to look at him. There was a flicker of anger at her name, and even more at the fact that Potter was all out of sorts over her visit when she should have come around two weeks ago! 

It was about fucking time she showed her face, though that didn’t explain why Potter was nervous about seeing her. “I thought you two were just friends? Tell me Potter, was the Daily Profit correct all those years ago? Have you been in a secret torrid love triangle all these years?” 

“Fucking hell, Draco. Do you even know how not to be a giant git?” 

Again, Draco shrugged. “Not really.” 

“Look, I’m going to say this once, and only once so I really need you to pay attention.” Potter rinsed his own mug in the sink, placing it on the drying rack before turning back to him. “Hermione is like my sister. There wasn’t, nor will there ever be, anything romantic between us. However, she worries. Mostly about me and I know she’s going to be obsessive once she knows about Gin and I.” He slumped a little after getting his words out and it gave Draco pause. 

“She doesn’t know?” 

Potter shook his head. “She’s been out of town, so no. No she does not.” 

So that answered that question. Partially at least. Granger wasn’t there because she didn’t know. Why she didn’t know was a question entirely different. “And you didn’t owl her or use one of those Muggle devices because–?” 

Potter let out a deep sigh, it was shaky and guttural, and Draco had a feeling he was a few seconds away from falling apart. “Because–-” He swallowed harshly and looked down at the floor which was apparently very intriguing all of a sudden, “because she would have come home early and I didn’t want to do that to her. She deserved a break, a vacation, and I couldn’t take that away from her.” 

He could tell that there was more to that story, but he wasn’t all that interested in asking for it. So instead he said “But you deserved a friend.” because there was something so pathetic in how Potter looked that Draco felt he needed to know it. Need to know he deserved better than him, because he was not his friend, and he was a piss poor flatmate if he’s being honest with himself. 

“So do you.” 

Bright green eyes met his molten silver and Draco sighed. “You’re off your rocker if you think Granger and I are ever going to be friends.” He knew that was not what he meant, but explaining his current friendship dynamic with the Golden Boy was not something he was inclined to do. 

Thankfully he was spared it when Potter said “Stranger things have happened.” with a shrug. 

“No Potter, I don’t believe they have.” 

“And what do you call living with me?” 

“An alcohol induced nightmare?” 

“Charming.” 

Draco laughed as Atlas approached him. Having recovered from their run, he sat down by his feet. His big doe eyes looking up at him, his tail wagging erratically, and his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. He reached down and gave his thick head a good pat. “What time is dinner?” Both Potter and Atlas seemed to perk up at the question. Oddly enough, it was because Draco was going to give both of them a bone, though vastly different in the meaning of the word. 

“I’m getting off early today, so six.” Potter’s stupid, excited voice said.

Draco refused to look at him, knowing he would likely want to wipe his stupid smile off of his face. “I’ll be here.” 

“Thanks mate.” 

“Not your mate.” 

Potter laughed. “One of these days, I swear, you’re going to give in.” 

“No likely.” He scratched Atlas behind his ear and smirked as the dog's hindleg started twitching wildly. “You be good today. No chewing on shoes, okay?” He took his happy bark as an agreement. 

“He’s always good. Aren’t you boy? Yes you are.” No longer receiving attention from his owner, Atlas bounded towards Potter giving another bark in agreement and wanting more affection as he jumped up and down around him, his barking continuing. 

He really was a good boy. In fact, Draco had noticed not a single hat, nor shoe, or pillow had been torn to shreds since moving in with Potter. It was almost as if he had outgrown all three bad habits at once. Which was a good thing really. Astoria had threatened on more than one occasion to re-home him if he didn’t stop making a mess of things, and Draco was sure Potter wouldn’t put up with nearly as long as she had.