Post-peace Chaos (Drarry)

Chapter 8

[Harry]

Harry woke up to the sunlight pouring through the windows. It took a good ten seconds to remember where he was. And that he was gay. A faint groan escaped his lips.

He reached for the nightstand for his glasses but realized he had slept with his glasses on. Groggily forcing his eyelids open, he glanced at the alarm clock beside him. It was nine. The exact time he should be at the Ministry of Magic.

"Bloody hell!"

He bolted upright to see a tall figure leaning against the doorframe.

"It's Sunday, Potter." Draco seemed highly amused.

"Oh." He automatically dropped back into bed.

"Unless you had something important. In my defense, I'm not your bloody alarm clock."

"Is it just me or are you literally everywhere I happen to be at?" Harry groaned through his sheets.

"I live here, Potter. Get used to it."

Draco smirked at Harry and turned.

"Coffee's downstairs!" Draco called out as he left the doorway. Harry could sense the lingering sneer at his tone.

He laid there for a moment. He couldn't stop thinking about how good he looked in that outfit. Then he couldn't stop thinking about how extremely stupid that was because he'd seen the same exact outfit a million times, then he couldn't stop thinking about how pathetic it was to be going through this damned cycle of Draco bleeding Malfoy looking good.

He really needed to get up.

Harry hoisted himself off the bed and sleep-walked across the hall to freshen up. He mopped cold water onto his face and dried it off. That'll get Draco out of my bloody mind.

After more consciously brushing his teeth and not bothering to brush his hair, he walked back to his room to get changed. He figured he'd just have to wear the gritty clothes from yesterday. But when he opened the door, surprisingly, on the bed were his clothes last night: clean, dry, crisp, and folded.

He thumbed over the fabric numbly and got changed. He started picking up things from the deserted heap on the floor. He was yelling scourgify at the bathrobe when Draco entered.

"Don't bother, Potter."

He spun around to see a nonchalant Draco with his hands in his pockets.

"What? No, I-"

"Just leave them, Potter," he waved a hand dismissively. "I doubt you know the ironing charm anyway."

Before Harry could answer he already had his back facing him, but he turned around again.

"Oh, and did I mention coffee downstairs? For Merlin's sake, Potter, what's taking you so long?"

Harry stared as he glided away, his mouth somehow dry without a response. It was true though; he never really managed cleaning charms and wasn't at all familiar with advanced ones. He always did the fancy stuff- ironing and steaming, etc.- manually. With a lot of Ginny's help. He abandoned the bathrobe and joined Draco at the dining table.

Draco was pouring coffee from a pot when he slid into the seat next to him. He didn't catch the fragrant scent he longed for yesterday. Today it was just plain Draco. That still didn't bid well for Harry. Somehow, the smell of fresh green apples, hair gel, and a faint trace of earthly luxury made him even more mesmerized. He was so, so, confused.

"Thanks for the clothes. And the things," he said, carefully.

"Mmh."

Draco handed him a cup and he accepted it gratefully. He desperately needed something to clear off his mind.