Lavender

Draco had lived with Harry for a week now, and to his own surprise he didn't hate it. Harry was a sweet flatmate once you got over all the asshole-ness. 

And Harry had also coaxed him out of a panic attack, so there was that. 

What Draco here didn't get was how Harry Potter, the boy who died twice was so fucking chill.  He wasn’t totally daft, he saw how Harry pulled on his fingers and raked his nails through his arms sometimes out of the blue, he saw how he braided Hermione’s hair everytime she came over and how the boy didn’t stop moving for a single second. 

But he didn’t ask him about it, he just took him in quirks and all. 

The most peculiar thing about Harry Potter’s muggle flat however was not the boy himself but this curious little thing he called a television. 

Harry would typically be out all day, probably working Draco didn’t want to ask, so Draco took it upon himself to figure the box out, after a couple of charms, three hexes and quite a lot of swearing according to the old lady who lived next door Draco managed to put on a sitcom without breaking the T.V

And thus Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy name hummed the tune of ‘F.R.I.E.N.D.S’  while washing the dishes every other day. 

Little things made Draco squeal like a six year old who had just been given a pony. A refrigerator? Nope we eat our food spoiled like under-developed civilisations. 

He had also found out that Harry Potter was half Indian, because Harry Potter never failed to mention he was half Indian, and hence courtesy to Chef Potter (and the Indian restaurant three buildings away) Draco was introduced to stuff that made him throw up for three days straight. 

“The British really do eat their food like the Germans are still flying overhead.” He heard Harry mutter one day early in the morning while he buttered his toast. 

“You’re British too.” he grumbled back. 

“Half.”

“Shut up.”

He also heavily considered borrowing the recipe for the kind of tea Harry made him every morning but he didn’t really want to go through an entire condescending ‘I told you so’ and so he just whined about a headache till Harry threw a pillow at him and just made him a cup. 

Draco was happy. This wasn’t something he got to say very often. Having an overbearing father and a narcissistic mother will do that to you, and it didn’t really help that the literal embodiment of the anti-christ was a huge part of his childhood, she went by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange sometimes. 

“What are you grinning about then?” Harry asks him Saturday morning when he comes out of his room in a shirt that's five sizes too large, slipping off his shoulder and plaid pajama bottoms, a smile plastered on his face. 

“Just happy, that’s all.”

“For the first time eh?” Harry was seated in front of the tv, legs spread upon the sofa, a plate of pancakes layered with whipped cream in his hand, a little bit of the cream stuck to his upper lip and Draco thought he would really like to lick it off. 

No wait what the fuck, back up. He wouldn’t like to lick it off, not even a little bit because he wasn’t gay, not even a little fucking bit. 

He wanted to lick whipped cream off a person’s body because he liked whipped cream, not because he liked the person, as one does. 

And so nineteen year old Draco Malfoy had his first Gay panic. 

He stood rooted on spot, face frozen, eyes glazed over because he had been warned against the ‘homosexuals’ when he was a child, of course he knew now that it was all bullshit, he never quite expected to be one himself. 

And he wasn’t, was he?

He wasn’t gay, what would his father think? 

Dead people don't have opinions. 

And he walked right back into his room leaving a very confused Harry Potter sitting on the sofa.

That evening a swearing Remus Lupin walked out of the small fireplace by the kitchen. If he’s at all surprised on seeing the Mallfoy heir on the sofa of the saviour of the wizarding world separating the whites and blacks in the oreo o’s as though his life depended on it, he sure didn’t show it. 

“Wotcher, Malfoy?” he asks rather cheerily. 

“Proffes- Remus? Lupin?” Draco looked up from his cereal bowl, “what do i call you?”

“Remus will do it.” Lupin says around a small smile, “You and Harry then?”

“Oh n-” Draco swallows his words, “Yeah he’s quite a fit lad innit.”

Lupin smiles again, sitting on a dining table chair. “Sirius is supposed to be here by now.” he muses, mostly to himself. 

“Sirius Black? Ex-murderer and all that?”

“That’s the one.”

Draco hmms and looks back down into his bowl. 

Harry walks out of his room a good five minutes later, he smiles bright as day when he sees Lupin, he waves a hi and moves in for a hug just as a large crack sounds through the hollow flat. 

“And on the fourth day God said let there be sun.” A rather fit man says with an infectious laugh, “or Sirius Black, not that there’s much of a difference per se.”

“If he talked to me the way he talked about himself.” Lupin sighs. 

And something clicks. “Sirius Black?” Draco asks tentatively, granted Sirius was proven innocent he still had the complete goth wizard look with his long - ish black hair curling against his shoulders and the leather jacket and all. 

“In flesh.” Sirius grins, eyes flitting right over Draco as though he had always been there, and then he freezes, looking back at the pale haired boy as though he were contagious, “Malfoy?”

“In flesh.” Draco echoes with a sigh, the tone Black said his name in was quite well known to the boy, everyone knew his father with all the mass assassins and what not and they naturally assumed he’d be the same, but Sirius fucking Black didn’t get to take that tone with him, sharing the same blood Walpurga Black did. 

“Huh.” Black says, not elaborating on shit and plopping himself on the couch as though he owned the place.

“Moony and Harry both here go for morally gray pureblood heirs then, eh?” The man says after a considerable silence, Harry and Remus exchanged a oh boy look.

“I suppose.” Draco replies stiffly, returning to his cereal, tension thick in the air. 

He waited for harry to say something, one - two - three - four -

“I taped a movie!” 

There it was. 

Draco looks at his bowl of soggy oreo o’s and milk as though it had personally wronged him. Cheery banter breaks out over the trio while Harry turns on the T.V and the opening credits of Twilight plays in.

Fucking great. 

Halfway through the movie Sirius scowls at the screen, “that’s not a fucking werewolf.” he mutters. 

“You’d know all about fucking werewolves.” Harry replies, pressing back a laugh. 

Lupin spits out the mouthful of water he was drinking, spluttering and apologising as he flicks his wand around, the water evaporating immediately. 

Oh, Draco thinks. 

“Oh,” Draco says, “you both are like -” he waves his hand around trying to sum up ‘gay and fucking?’

“Well I had to get the gay genes from somewhere.” Harry laughs. 

“I thought you were more of AC/DC, you know?”

“Why would you think so?” Harry says with barely concealed humour, as though he found everything funny today. 

“Didn’t you have a thing with Weaslette in sixth?”

“Had a thing with Dean too.”

“Thomas?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wasn’t he fucking Finigan?” 

“Yeah, well after us.”

Black and Lupin looked at this exchange with pleasantly disguised amusement.

Draco opened his mouth to say something but just then a small owl went peck, peck, pecking at the window, Harry groaned, pushing off the layers of Blanket he had heaped upon himself and walking over to the glass. 

“Good boy.” he mutters under his breath to the owl, low enough for anyone to miss it but Draco had always had an extraordinary hearing. 

“That’s Ron’s owl, isn’t it?” Black asks. Harry nods, trying to calm the hyper owl down enough to retrieve the letter. 

Finally, five good minutes later Harry gestured towards Black, “Ron and Hermione are going to the Weasley’s place to drop off Rose and then some sorta ‘date night’.”

“Fuck they have the key.” Lupin says. 

“Just alohomora your way in.” Draco suggests as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Alohomora doesn’t work.” Black says. 

“Why?”

“Bought the flat back during the first war.” Lupin says this time, “didn’t want to get killed in our beds y’know.” 

“Sounds like fun.”

“So what are you going to do?” Harry inquires.

“Stalk down the lovebirds?” Black quips up.

“Sirius, no.”

“Let’s hear your ideas then.” Black says withering, throwing up a V at the other man. 

“Oh shush.” Harry waves them down as though used to their banter, “Stay over.”

Draco looks up this time, placing his bowl of still unfinished cereal upon the coffee table. 

“I mean you could like take my room and I’ll kip on the couch.”

“You both live together but don't sleep together?”

“No, no we do.” Harry amends quickly, “I wanted to - well-” he scrambles for an excuse.

“I was gonna do some reading tonight.” Draco says, smiling over his cross features. 

Remus’ eyes flitted between the two, he nods as though unconvinced, “well, if it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.” Draco smiles venom sweet. 

He walks over to the kitchen and stares at the back of Harry’s head till he follows him. 

“What the fuck?” he spits out. 

“Well it looks like we’re sleeping together.

“Bitch, what?”

“Oh don’t look so scandalized, it’s fully - clothed isn't it?”

Draco looks at Harry with all the hatred he can possibly muster.