Flatmates (drarry)

Chapter Three

 Even after three weeks of living with Draco, the novelty of the flat hadn't worn off. Each day, Harry woke and smiled as soon as his bare feet made contact with the smooth, cool hardwood floors.

This day was no different, and Harry treasured the new feeling (it was far from the splintery, rotting mess of floorboards he'd had previously) the whole way to the kitchen. Draco was already seated at the counter and having tea.

He gestured to a teapot a few feet away. "More of this in there, if you'd like it."

Harry nodded his thanks as he filled a mug. He and Draco still weren't the best of friends, but Harry had loosened the grip on the grudge he'd held for so long and, unbelievably, the two hadn't had a single disagreement.

"I've been thinking, Potter."

Harry leaned against the counter, facing Draco. "That can't be good."

The trace of a smile played on the edges of Draco's lips. "We should get to know each other a bit better. I'd hate to find out that you've outgrown that arrogant, immature little schoolboy you once were. Then again, seeing that little schoolboy in you makes me want to vomit a bit every day, so change would probably be a good thing for you."

"Getting to know Draco Malfoy... Don't I already know him? That was the prissy little bully I met in school!"

Draco cringed. "God, don't remind me. At least one of us has changed since then."

Harry shook his head, laughing softly. "Fine, fine. What are we doing?"

"I'm taking you to my favorite muggle restaurant. For now, I've got to go to work- and so do you- so we can meet back here at, say... Six?"

"It's a date."

--

As Harry scrubbed away at the dishes in the sink of the Leaky Cauldron all that day, he thought about Draco. Maybe Hermione was right, and he really was being immature, keeping this decade-old grudge. Then again, Draco literally had come from a line of murderous racists. It wasn't like Harry was jumping to conclusions.

And yet, this supposedly horrible person had made Harry's life so much better. Truth is, Harry had started hating every moment of his life. He hated coming to work and soaking his hands in near boiling water, scraping his nails against grime and wondering why they couldn't just use magic to do such menial work. He hated that his friends were successful, wonderful people and that he had barely changed since they'd graduated from Hogwarts. He hated having people treat him weirdly, never making eye contact, because everyone knew how "broken" he was, and exactly how much pity he deserved.

He'd hated his old flat. At least that had changed.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy had come to change his whole life. Maybe now he'd get a better job. Maybe things would start to look up. God knows he was trying to change as a person, but maybe now he'd actually make some progress.

Draco had brought an element into Harry's life that he wasn't so familiar with: hope.

--

Draco was waiting on the couch, book in hand, when Harry arrived back at the flat. He looked gently rugged, wearing a nice black button up, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

The blond looked up and smirked as the door shut behind Harry. "You look dreadful."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Malfoy."

His eyes had already fallen back to his book. "Throw on something nice."

Harry thought of his closet. The clothes that hung there were hardly nice enough for someone who worked as a dishwasher at a shady restaurant. "I don't-"