A/N: Yay!

Malfoy didn't come into work on Monday. Harry at first assumed that he had been sent off on an assignment, but then one of Malfoy's partners Miranda almost knocked him over in the hallway on Wednesday.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," she said distractedly, scrambling to pick up all the files that Harry had dropped.

"It's fine, really," Harry replied, bending down to help her. "Listen, I hope you don't mind me asking...but, if you're here, then where's Malfoy?"

Miranda stared at him like he had just told her that her favourite pet rabbit had been killed. Then she burst into tears.

"Jesus," Harry said in surprise, "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

Miranda shook her head and waved her hand simultaneously, apparently too overcome to speak. So Harry ushered her into his office, and offered her a drink from his secret third draw stash. She accepted it gratefully. Presently, she calmed down a bit, and was able to explain.

"Oh, Harry," she said, looking up at him with her big, brown eyes, "Draco's barricaded himself into his apartment. He won't see anyone - he's been holed up in there since Saturday."

"How do you know he's there if you can't get in?" Harry asked, the first question that popped into his mind. Miranda took a tissue from out of her pocket and dabbed at her running mascara.

"He comes out every so often to buy more alcohol," she said, sniffing, "He looks absolutely terrible. I don't know what to do. Apparently he's done this before, but we've tried absolutely everything. He won't even tell us why he's there in the first place, it's like he doesn't trust us, or, or..."

Then she burst into tears again, and ran from the room, leaving Harry wondering

a) how on earth she was made an auror, and

b) what on earth he should do about Malfoy (because he had a sneaking suspicion that it was his fault).

Ron popped his head around the door.

"What was that about, then?" he asked, coming in and helping himself to Harry's scotch, "You been sleeping around again?"

"No, Ron," Harry sighed, "Malfoy's barricaded himself in his apartment and he won't let anyone see him. Miranda was just...worried for the welfare of the team."

"Huh," Ron said, joining Harry at the window.

There was a pause.

"So, why was she telling you about it?"

Harry longed for the days when things just went straight over Ron's head.

"Because, Ron, it might be my fault. And that's all I'm saying."

"Huh," Ron said again, "Poor old Malfoy."

To which Harry just groaned, picked up his things, and left the office.

Harry arrived at Malfoy's apartment armed to the teeth with ammunition. In his left hand were bags filled with the finest wines and whiskeys he could find, and in his right were bags filled chocolate, caviar, olives and crisps in equal measures.

He set his bags down, and knocked loudly on the door.

"Draco?" he called, "It's me, Harry. I want you to let me in."

There was no response, but Harry had expected that. So Harry surreptitiously transfigured himself a chair, and settled in for the long haul. There was a handy spell he had found in an old textbook that knocked on any door three times, in 15 second intervals. Harry cast the spell.

"I'm just going to let you know that I'm not leaving until you open the door," Harry said loudly over the knocking noises, "And I'm also going to let you know that I have lots and lots of very expensive bottles of wine here, which, unless you let me in, are going to be drunk by me."

Still no response. But Harry was nothing if not stubborn.

"Fine," he said, "Be that way. I'm just going to sit here, outside your door, drinking this delicious wine, and looking absolutely mad. Oh, and I'm also going to tell you about my day."

A few hours later, and Harry was quite possible drunk, and almost certainly freezing. The knocking spell had warn off. At some point, telling Draco about his day had become telling Draco about his week, and then his month, and then the past ten years. He told Draco, as well as a few passers by on the street, about all his ex girlfriends and boyfriends, about all the people he'd ever fancied, all the people he'd ever fucked, and all the people who'd ever rejected him. He was just about to launch into an explanation of he and Ron's tit rating scheme when he heard a not-so-familiar voice behind him.

"Potter? Harry Potter?"

Harry turned to see an extremely stylish woman standing on the steps.

"I don't believe it," the woman said, taking off her black sunglasses (protecting her eyes from what sun? where?) and pulling off her black leather gloves. She was smiling delightedly, if a little dangerously, and she had short, dark hair.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" she said, continuing up the steps and inspecting the empty bottles littered around Harry's chair, "You always did have an awful memory for people."

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, squinting up at the woman's somewhat pug-like face, "You're Tulip, or something. Poppy. No, Petunia! No, that's not right. I've got it! Begonia."

"Not quite, Potter," she said, frowning slightly, "Pansy. I'm Pansy Parkinson."

Harry waved a hand absently.

"That was my next guess," he muttered. Pansy watched him intently for a few moments, as if psyching herself up for Harry's next movement. Then she turned and knocked on the door impatiently.

"Draco," she said in a loud, strong voice, "Draco, it's Pansy. I know you can hear me. If you don't open this door right now, I swear I will tell your mother all about what happened that summer in Italy. You know exactly what I'm talking about, darling, so don't pretend."

Harry was in the middle of explaining to her that Draco wouldn't let anybody in when the door opened suddenly and Draco stuck his head out. He did look terrible.

"You," he croaked, pointing to Pansy," In." Pansy turned to stick her tongue out at Harry, and pushed past Draco into the apartment.

You," Draco croaked, pointing to Harry, "Wait here. And for Merlin's sake, stop talking about your sexcapades." The door slammed again.

"Well, at least he was listening," Harry muttered to himself, standing up only slightly wobbly and transfiguring the chair back into a milk bottle.

About ten minutes later, Pansy came out again.

"He's all yours, Potter," she said, "He's in the shower at the moment. Don't talk about his father - or his mother, for that matter - don't give him alcohol, don't give him drugs, and for god sake, don't talk about Voldemort. I'm sure you'll manage."

She gave him a long look over her glasses, her dark eyes betraying absolutely nothing. Then she reached into her black leather bag and pulled out a card.

"My number, Potter," she said, smiling briefly at him, "Call me when you have the chance. It would be nice to catch up."

Then she pushed her glasses back up, fished out her gloves from her coat pocket, and walked away. Harry looked at the card briefly before pocketing it, squaring his shoulders, picking up his bags, and walking into Draco's apartment.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The second thing, the mess. Sighing, he put his bags down in the kitchen, his coat on the living room chair, and rolled his sleeves up. Then he started cleaning.

First, he opened all the windows he could find, in an attempt to get rid of the musty air in the place. Then, he set about picking up all the empty glasses lying around the place, and putting them in the dishwasher. At one point, while Harry was cleaning the kitchen, Draco came out in a towel expectantly, but Harry just pointed at the bathroom and said, "have another shower, and don't forget to shave this time." Draco pulled a face, but thankfully didn't argue.

Harry was just draining the pasta when Draco emerged a second time, clean and shaven and dressed in what appeared to be very expensive pyjamas. There were still dark rings underneath his eyes, and a pallor to his skin. He eyed the pasta hungrily.

"It's nearly ready," Harry said, trying to calm his nervousness by looking for the cheese, "Why don't you go and sit down? I'll bring it out."

Thankfully, Draco did go and sit down, so Harry didn't have to think of something to say. He eventually found the cheese, prepared the two plates, and brought them out to the living room.

"Thanks," Draco muttered when Harry handed him his plate. Harry took a seat on the opposite couch, and they began to eat in silence. Draco wolfed his plate down, and began eying Harry's as well, so Harry gave him the rest and went without. After Draco had finished, Harry put the plates in the dishwasher, poured two glasses of the finest scotch he could find in the apartment, and gave one to Draco.

"Pansy told me not to give you any alcohol," Harry said, "But I think that's utter bullshit. So you should be thankful that I'm here and not her."

Draco managed a weak smile, but said nothing. There was a silence. Then -

"What did you do in Italy?" Harry blurted out. So much for tactful.

Draco looked up at him in surprise.

"I killed three prostitutes, and then burned down their brothel," he said in a quiet voice, with such a straight face that Harry wasn't sure whether he should believe him or not.

"Really?" Harry asked, because he figured he needed to be sure. Draco chuckled softly.

"No, Harry," he said, swirling his drink around absently. Harry sipped at his own drink.

"Good," he said.

There was another silence. Then Harry bit the bullet.

"If you don't want to talk about...this, at the moment, then that's fine," he said, getting up and moving to sit next to Draco.

"Good," Draco said, downing the rest of his drink and standing up, "Because right now, all I want to do is go to sleep."

Harry put his glass on the table and got up as well, grabbing his coat and bags. There was an awkward moment as he and Draco faced each other.

"Well?" Draco asked, "Are you coming?"

"To bed?" Harry almost squeaked. Draco ran a hand through his hair quickly.

"Look, Harry," Draco said tightly, pulling Harry's things out of his hands and putting them onto the couch, "I couldn't care less about social propriety right now. Just come to bed."

So Harry did. He didn't think about what he was doing as he sat on the edge of Draco's bed, pulling off his shoes and socks and listening to the water running in the bathroom. He didn't think when he let Draco unbutton his shirt, nor when he slid into bed next to Draco. He didn't think about how quickly Draco fell asleep with Harry's arm slung over his stomach. And he definitely didn't think about how nice it was to have someone to take care of again. No, he didn't think about any of those things. Harry just went to sleep.

Harry woke the next morning to the defeaning sound of his mobile ringing right next to his ear. He sat bolt up right.

"Whozzat?" he mumbled, fumbling around to try and stop the sound. Eventually he found the answer key.

"Hello?" he managed, looking over to find that Draco was no longer in bed.

"Where the fuck are you?"

It was Ron. And it was also 11am on a Thursday morning. And Harry should have been at work.

"I'm...I'm at home," Harry replied, "I'm sick. Tell the boss that I won't be coming in today." Harry coughed violently for effect.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron said, "You sound awful."

"Yeah, I feel it, too," Harry said through fake coughs.

"Well, I hope you feel better."

"Cheers, mate."

"Bye."

Harry hung up. And then set about trying to find Draco.

After a longer time searching than he expected (it was a small apartment, after all), Harry discovered that the other door near the bedroom didn't actually lead to a spare room, but to a large, comfortable study. Draco was sitting at a large desk in front of a computer, a fire crackling away merrily in the fireplace. He was wearing his glasses, and there was a large coffee mug next to the keyboard.

"Hullo," Draco said as Harry came in, "I was wondering when you would find me. I'm working from home today."

Before Harry could respond, Draco was up out of his chair and had crossed the room, kissing Harry hard on the lips. Then he went and sat down again. Harry blinked.

"What was that?" Harry asked. Draco didn't even turn around, but rather seemed quite absorbed in something on the screen. He waved a hand behind him vaguely.

"I just felt like kissing you, is all," he murmured.

There was a pause.

"Draco, what the fuck?" Harry asked, throwing his hands up in the air. Draco looked at him, surprised.

"What ever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I mean, are you going to tell me what's been the matter with you? Or why you've refused to leave your apartment since Saturday? Or maybe even why you decided to only let Pansy Parkinson and me see you?"

Draco sighed and took of his glasses.

"Harry," he said "I want to thank you for last night. For taking care of me, and...so forth. From time to time, I get into very bad moods - these past few days has been one those times. So it was very gracious of you to drop everything and come to look after me, despite the fact that we're...well, we...oh, you know. Despite the fact it's never been straightforward between us."

Harry looked at Draco carefully.

"You didn't answer my question about only letting Pansy and me see you," he said slowly.

Draco smiled suddenly.

"I know it might be hard to believe," he said, getting out of his chair and coming to stand in front of Harry once more, "But I like you. Quite a lot, actually."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Thank you," he said, "That was definitely one thing I never expected to ever hear from you."

Draco wrinkled his nose affectionately.

"Silly," he murmured, "That's your problem, Harry. You form opinions of people when you first meet them, and never allow them to change."

Harry found he had nothing to say to that.

"Well, I've got some work to catch up on," Draco said, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Oh," Harry said, "I'll be off, then."

Draco smiled, and placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips.

"Thanks again for last night," he said, going back to the desk and putting his glasses back on, "Oh, and can you shut this door on your way out? Keeps the heat in, you see."

"Sure," Harry said, sending a strange sort of wave to Draco before shutting the study door and going to collect his things.

He apparated home with the lingering sense that he had missed something quite important, but couldn't for the life of him see.

Over the next few weeks, Harry spent increasing amounts of time with Draco. They went out to dinner, they went to the movies, they drank lots of wine together and seemed to fuck almost every other day. Quite frankly, Harry couldn't ever recall wanting to spend so much time with anybody, not even his ex-wife.

One evening, after having been given a leaflet about a play that was on not far from where Draco lived, Harry decided to floo Draco's apartment unannounced to see if the other man would like to go. It was a Thursday evening, so Harry figured that Draco would be around. He threw some floo powder into the fireplace, and spoke Draco's address clearly.

"Draco, I have a leaflet here - oh, my god."

Harry looked up from the leaflet only to see Draco lying naked on the desk in the study, being fucked roughly by a dark-haired man that Harry didn't know. Draco looked at Harry with wide eyes at the sound of his voice, looking utterly mortified. The other man, however, wasn't even interested, and kept thrusting into Draco as Harry watched.

"Harry," Draco said, moving to sit up, but the dark-haired man seemed to be holding him down at his hips. Harry found himself completely frozen.

"Oh, stop that, will you?" Draco snapped, pushing the dark-haired man away, "Harry, listen to me -"

Suddenly, Harry regained movement in his legs. And he apparated on the spot back to his apartment.

"Fuck," he muttered, crinkling the leaflet in his left hand, "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He picked up the lamp next to the sofa in anger, and was about to throw it against the wall when Draco suddenly appeared in his living room, marginally more dressed.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Draco began, but Harry now had a better target, and he hurled the lamp at Draco. With his seeker reflexes, Draco yelped and dodged the lamp, which shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

"Harry, please -" Draco tried again, but Harry wasn't interested.

"Get out," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "Get the fuck out, right now."

Harry could feel his magic starting to seep out of him, uncontrolled and feeding off his anger. A strong wind began to pick up in the apartment, causing the curtains to flap furiously and the newspaper sitting on the coffee table to blow apart. Draco swallowed almost visibly, but tried to explain himself one last time.

"Please listen to me, Harry!" he cried, over the wind, but Harry didn't want to listen. He pulled out his wand from his back pocket and pointed it straight at Draco.

"I'm not kidding, Malfoy," he spat in a barely controlled voice, "I don't want to see you right now."

Draco seemed to get the point, finally, and apparated away just in time. Harry's hex hit the wall behind where Draco had been standing, burning a large hole into it. Harry stood in that position, wand raised and panting heavily, for a few moments, before snarling angrily and going into his bedroom to retrieve his broom.