Flatmates (drarry)

Chapter One

Harry's floorboards creaked as he walked, barefooted, over the rough wood. Despite having all of the lights on, the apartment was dim and dreary even as he watched morning's grey light fall through his pitiful excuse for a window. The air was cold and moist and the whole of the tiny space reeked of mildew.

    It was about time for him to move out.

    But, of course, galleons didn't grow on trees, and even the boy who lived was short on cash. After all, dishwashers at the Leaky Cauldron weren't exactly millionaires. What Harry really needed was a flatmate- but who would ever want to live with someone like him?

    He sighed as he pulled on some clothes (they were about as ratty as the ones he'd worn as a child living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon). At least today was his day off; surely that would take his mind off of the current predicament.

    As he moped, his shitty old phone buzzed in his pocket.

    Hermione: Are we still on for this morning?

    He typed out a response as quickly as he could on the keypad: Sure, be over in ten.

    With a quick press of the send button, he was out, door loudly squeaking shut behind him.

    --

    Harry knocked firmly, three times, on the sleek black door he faced. Hermione opened it almost instantaneously, balancing her daughter, Rose, in one arm and holding a steaming cup of coffee in the other. She gave Harry a welcoming smile, widening the door for him.

    Even though he'd come to the house many times before, Harry was always astounded by its cleanliness: somehow, Hermione and Ron balanced work, parenthood, and cleaning (though Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione had gotten her hands on another Time Turner). The furniture was minimalistic and sleek, somehow managing to look both untouched and homey and the same time.

    Stepping inside, Harry was met with a wave and a "hullo" from a sleepy-looking Ron Weasley, who balanced his and Hermione's son, Hugo, on his leg. Both of the ever-so-adorable children were still toddlers.

    Hermione shut the door behind him. "Come on in, Harry, have a seat- I've just made coffee."

    He did as he was instructed, and Hermione plopped herself and Rose down on the high-backed chair across him. "How have you been, Harry?" With a flick of her wand, she filled a mug with coffee and sent it sliding across the table to land neatly before Harry. "You look a bit stressed."

    Harry shrugged. "Can't complain about work. If anything, I guess it's my flat that's driving me up the wall."

    Ron snickered. "I don't know, mate, does that space even qualify as a flat?"

    Hermione sent a glare towards her husband before turning back to Harry. "Are you sure there isn't a nicer place to live? I mean, they do pay you at the Leaky Cauldron, right?"

    "Hardly. And no, I've searched the market up and down. My place is the nicest I can afford."

    Wrangling a squirrely Hugo, Ron said, "You're free to come stay here a while, until you can find somewhere nicer. We've got a comfortable enough couch."

    "Or," said Hermione, obviously not so on board with the idea, "you could consider a flatmate."

    "A flatmate? Who'd want to live with me?"

    She bit her lip a moment, thinking. "I've an idea- but I'm not sure that you're going to like it."

--

    "Draco Malfoy? You want me to live with Draco Malfoy?"

    "I know, I know! I shouldn't have done it like this, but there was no other way that you'd give him a chance!"

    It had been three days since their conversation in the Weasley household, and now Harry and Hermione sat in a cab in the heart of London, outside of a cafe. Sat at one of the outdoor tables was none other than Harry's childhood rival. He didn't look as clean-cut as he had in school: his white-blond hair was falling across his face in long strands, and he'd acquired a few tattoos. He wore a flannel and had pushed up the sleeves to his elbows, showing that the dark mark was still pasted across his forearm. However, accompanied by a few tattoos on his arm, it didn't look quite so menacing. In fact, although he looked worn and tired, Draco almost looked.... Normal.

    "He's a good person, Harry! And you know he's always had a decent amount of money- it wouldn't hurt to have him as a flatmate!"

    "But he's- that's Draco!"

    "Well if that's the only argument you've got against him-"

    "He's a prissy little-"

    "Harry, it's been so long since-"

    "Not long enough!"

    "Just give him a chance!"

    Harry glared at Hermione for a few moments. He couldn't help feeling betrayed: Hermione had practically just set him up for what was bound to be the most awkward conversation of his life.

    The cabbie turned around. "Look, am I gonna keep driving or what?"

    Hermione opened the door, quickly pushing Harry out. "You'll thank me."

    Before he could argue, she slammed the door and gave an address to the driver, and they sped away, leaving Harry standing alone on the street with only one option: he was going to have to talk to Draco Malfoy.