I'd grown accustomed to waking up in Draco Malfoy's bed.

Since the war ended Rom and I had been on and off constantly. And usually when we were off…this is where I would find myself. Ron was probably getting laid by some Golden Trio fangirl, desperate to get into the pants of one of the two males that make up two-thirds of us. But Harry was in a committed relationship with Ginny, and would never even look at another girl. So the girls usually flocked to Ron. It was one of the primary reasons for us breaking up constantly.

Another one was my job. Apparently I work too much. I feel he works too little. Everyone thought that the arguing just meant we were in love, but I know better than to buy it. Sometimes I wish we'd just stayed friends. And I don't want the Ron Weasley brand of love, the suffocating where-the-hell-have-you-been-for-the-three-minutes-you-were-gone-I-missed-you-so-much type. I want something relaxed, and not too time consuming. He wants to be by my side every second of the day, until we break it off, and give ourselves some time to 'think'. Then he's fine with shagging all those girls who only want him for his newly acquired money, his fame, or his pending Quidditch career.

And I'm fine with going back to Malfoy, again and again.

He knows I don't want a relationship with him or anything. And he's cool with being the person I talk to about Ron, my parents, work, and everything else. He's amazing in bed, and a better listener than one would have thought.

So this brings me to a typical morning after I've just broken it off with Ron, in the hopes that it might be final. This is the third time this month that we've broken up. I know for a fact Ron was at the Leaky Cauldron all night, getting loaded before finding a random fangirl and going home. And is now probably sound asleep as the girl gets up quietly, steals something of his, and slips out the door.

…

I stared at the high ceiling above me, looking for patterns in the shadows cast by the early morning light. The thick curtain had only a tiny gap, enough to let some light shine through. I took in a breath, and let it out slowly, and closed my eyes, trying to fall back asleep.

I heard him breathing evenly next to me, and turned on my side, eyes open again. His strong, muscular back was facing me. I propped myself up on an elbow, and the silky, expensive sheets slid off of my body. I watched him breathe for a while longer, before lowering myself back down, and falling asleep to the sound of his breathing.

When I woke up again, his face was hovering above mine, hair rumpled, and in need of a shave. I smiled sleepily at him, "Good morning."

"A fine morning indeed." He smirked playfully, and kissed me lightly.

"And why is it such a fine morning?" I asked, smilingly, and sat up. I was sitting with my legs wrapped around his waist, the sheet wrapped around me like a dress. He pulled me closer, hands on the small of my back.

"I'll give you one guess." He leaned in and kissed me again, this time not smiling or smirking. I kissed him back, no longer playful.

The sheet fell away, and we pressed tighter together, my hands where in his hair, his on my neck. We continued like this until my stomach growled. I broke away, and looked down at my stomach as if to tell it to shut up.

He laughed, and got out of bed, pulling me up with him, "Breakfast time."

I pouted, but got up, and took the sheet with me. I wrapped myself in it again, and followed him to his flat's kitchen. The kitchen was small and becoming familiar to me. I knew where he kept his silverware, and where the pots and pans went. He started pulling things out, a pink carton of eggs, a pan, some salt and pepper. He started to make me eggs, one of the few things he knew how to cook the Muggle way.

I leaned against the counter and watched him. He was only wearing his green boxers. I smile to myself, and pull myself up onto the counter. He hands me my favorite blue bowl, and a fork, and leans against the counter next to me, eating from his own yellow bowl. This is our morning after I've come over for brief consolation and we've hopped into bed together, routine. Its quiet sad that this has become common.

I thanked him for breakfast, gave him a quick kiss goodbye, found my shoes, and my dress hanging from a lamp, and Apparated back to my flat.

…

It's now five o'clock, and I've just come home from my job at the Ministry. I work as head of the Magical Creatures department, specializing in House Elf rights. S.P.E.W to a whole new level, I guess you could say.

I leave my black heels by the door. I pull off my nicest black robes, and fling them into a laundry hamper. My black dress goes flying next. I find my comfiest jeans and an old Gryffindor Quidditch shirt. I put on my slippers, and pull my hair up, and start to make dinner.

Ron still hasn't tried to apologize for whatever he did; I even forget exactly what made me dump him this time. I'm almost glad he hasn't, maybe we can finally forget be done. I sigh to myself, and finishing fixing myself pasta. I pour myself a glass of firewiskey, and sit down at my table to eat. I always hope for the same things, that Ron and I will just be done already, or that we'll just get better. I usually go with getting better, and let him crawl back, or do the crawling back myself.

And until me and Ron get back together (because it's the inevitable) Malfoy and I can still do whatever it is we are doing.

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