Draco woke with a gasp, heart racing and blinking fiercely into the darkness as the image of the plummeting fall slowly faded from his mind. He tugged the sweaty fabric away from his skin with a grimace. He remembered that he was still wearing Potter's clothes and dragged the t-shirt over his head, wadding it up into a ball and throwing it across the room.

He pushed the blanket down to his feet and grabbed the plastic shopping bag he had left on the end of his mattress. Draco left Potter's baggy joggers in a crumpled pile on the bathroom floor, unceremoniously kicking them under the sink. He took another shower, turning the dial for hot water until it wouldn't go any further, but the water remained pleasantly warm and refused to get any hotter. But at least it washed the sweat from his skin.

He shaved and brushed his teeth, putting his small neon coloured toothbrush next to Potter's boring blue one. Potter hadn't been in the flat when he had come back from his day with Elle, and from how unsettlingly quiet everything remained, Draco guessed that Potter was still out. It was mildly baffling what Potter would be doing out in the middle of the night. He hadn't struck Draco as the type to go out clubbing.

The last things left in the bag were a few items of clothes. Pants, jeans that were too stiff, black t-shirts sold in packs of three and some very soft socks that Elle had found. A few cleaning charms helped make the jeans softer; he added tailoring spells to lengthen the legs and tighten the waist. Draco pulled on a t-shirt and brought the fabric up to his nose without thinking, but it just smelled like new clothes and plastic.

Draco dropped all the extra things on the end of his mattress and walked into the dark living room, using a lumos to find the light switch on the far wall. Somehow the light made the room feel emptier than it had been before. He went into the small horseshoe-shaped kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, opening cupboards until he found Potter's tea.

There were boxes of black tea, bags of fancy green teas mixed with fruit, and a few herbal teas, all shoved haphazardly on the same shelf. Draco went through and smelled each one while he waited for the water to boil, picking a sweet green tea mixed with coconut, lemongrass and ginger. Potter had nearly as many mugs as he did teas. Draco sat on the countertop as he took out each mug and examined it. There was a bright orange Chudley Cannon's mug, a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes mug, a black mug that had 'reading is lit!' written in white, a mug emblazoned with the Gryffindor seal, wrapped in red and gold-

A shrill whistle from the kettle made Draco jump, and he quickly moved it off the heat and turned off the burner.

Draco pushed the other mugs aside until he found the largest one, a green and gold Holyhead Harpy mug. The paint was far more faded and chipped than on the other mugs.

Draco filled the mug, cradling it in his hands as it heated the ceramic until his hands stung. The small digital clock on top of the oven said it was two in the morning. He stared at the clock as the minutes passed, and water inside the mug began to cool before adding the green tea. The steam lifting from the cup was instantly sweetened, but after three minutes of steeping, he added sugar anyway.

Draco idly scraped his thumbnail over the Holyhead Harpies gold lettering, scratching off the faded paint.

This time of night, he normally would have been leaving a bar. Or already left, to spend the night in someone's arms. Even if he hadn't found someone to go home with, he would have drunk himself blind and passed out in his own bed to sleep most of the next day off.

He had to wonder if days had always been so long. So empty.

Draco sighed and sipped his tea. It was too sweet.

He cast a stasis charm over the mug and set it on the counter. He'd come back to it later.

Draco went to the couch and turned on the tv, flipping between the channels. Late night programming was a mix between strange and boring with no middle ground. He chewed on his thumb absently as the different colours and lights flashed across the screen, shifting his weight from foot to foot and back again. He went back to the kitchen, drank more tea, and moved it to the coffee table. He sat on the couch but couldn't stop bouncing his leg.

Draco gave up on the tv and stood up, going to Potter's room and opening the door. It was empty, which Draco had been fairly certain of, but he was still surprised it hadn't been locked, cursed or alarmed. It seemed incredibly stupid to him that Potter would trust Draco around his things. It wasn't as if Potter didn't care about his things; he had to. Like the photos.

Draco found himself standing in front of the collage of pictures above Potter's dresser. He searched through them, watching the wizarding ones through their loops one person at a time. Potter had his mother's smile, the way it crinkled up at the corners of her eyes the same way. Potter's father's hair was a carbon copy of his, but a few pictures of Potter senior showed that he could control it sometimes.

Draco stared at the picture of Sirius Black. He and Black had similar eyes, the same grey. He had been very handsome once. He found one photo of Sirius with a young Remus Lupin. Sirius had his arm slung around Lupin's neck, pulling him close. At the end of the loop, their faces almost met.

Draco watched that photo loop for a long time, wondering if he was naive in thinking maybe they had kissed. It made him wish he had had the chance to meet his cousin just to have someone in his family he could talk to about... about being different from everything he was supposed to be.

Draco brushed his fingers over that photo before stepping back. He found a copy of the Quibbler on Potter's nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through it. He was almost certain it wouldn't have made any more sense if he tried to read it when he was well-rested.

Draco put the magazine back. As he was leaving, he spotted a large plastic basket near the door filled with clothes and plucked a flannel shirt off the top, shrugging it on over his t-shirt. It was soft and warm against his skin.

Draco returned to the couch, laying down on the plush red upholstery and letting his eyes drift shut, half-listening to the people on tv. He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes again, it was to the piercing light of dawn.

Draco yawned and pulled his socked foot up onto the kitchen counter where he was sitting, resting his cheek on his knee as he watched the toaster beside him. Inside, the little metal wires glowed red with heat. Draco let his hand hover over the top, warming his palm.

There was a crack of apparition from inside Potter's room followed by a faint, tired groan.

Draco levitated the kettle over to himself, pulling off the lid and directing it into the sink. He had to set it down in the bottom before turning on the water and filling the kettle. As he put the lid back on and put it on the hob, turning on the heat with another spell, Draco had to wonder at his own ineptitude. Then again, charm twining, casting and overlapping multiple charms at once with wordless casting was something they were meant to learn in seventh year.

The toaster popped with a horrible metal sound.

"Jesus-fucking-christ!" Potter said in startled surprise.

Draco turned his head to look at Potter, just outside the kitchen. The shadows under his eyes weren't a patch on Draco's own, but they were fairly impressive.

"Malfoy? What the fuck are you doing?" Potter asked.

Draco gestured mutely to the toaster.

"I meant- It's six in the morning," Potter said.

"I did notice that," Draco said flatly.

Potter narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to get a better look at Draco, "Did you sleep last night?"

"Take a wild fucking guess," Draco said flatly, then before Potter could answer, "A few hours, I think."

Potter frowned.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Potter. You were gone all night," Draco said.

"That was for work. There was an... incident. They needed all aurors on deck," Potter said.

Draco noticed that Potter was indeed wearing the trousers and dragonhide boots for his auror uniform. He must have shrugged the robes off in his room.

Potter sighed, "And here I was trying to be careful and not wake you."

Draco smiled faintly, "Sometimes you can be very considerate for an arsehole."

"And I see you helped yourself to one of my shirts again," Potter said.

Draco looked down at the flannel shirt hanging open loosely over his t-shirt and felt weirdly embarrassed. "I was cold," he said, carefully pulling a waffle out of the toaster.

Potter stepped further into the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle faintly and turned off the stove. He picked up the green mug Draco had left next to the sink, still half full of stasis-warm tea.

"It was too sweet," Draco said.

Potter glanced over at him, "I didn't think that was a problem for you."

Draco shrugged one shoulder. He grabbed the knife sticking out a jar of Nutella; the chocolatey hazelnut spread, melting as he swiped it across the waffle.

Potter brow furrowed, and then he took a sip of Draco's abandoned tea.

"See? Too sweet," Draco said.

"This is one of the green teas?" Potter said.

"Yes?"

"Whenever I made them, they were bitter," Potter said, taking another drink. "I never understood why she liked them."

"You have to let the water cool," Draco said.

"What?" Potter looked up in confusion.

Draco nibbled on the corner of a waffle, "With green teas, you have to let the water cool for a few minutes. If it's actually at boiling, it scorches the leaves and makes them bitter."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Potter said.

Draco wondered, rather belatedly who 'she' was.

"Why does my mug say 'Holy pies' instead of 'Holyhead Harpies'?" Potter asked.

Draco figured the answer to that ought to be fairly obvious, so instead, he asked, "What do you suppose a holy pie is anyway? Do you think the pope would be involved, or could any old priest wave his hands over a pie and make it holy?" He took another bite of waffle and chewed slowly. "...can you eat a pie once it's holy, or would that be sacrilege?"

Potter frowned at him in confusion, "Wha- Where did you even learn about the pope?"

"There was this one flat I lived in for a while. Really, really shite neighbourhood. This young priest would come around to talk to people. He was trying to get us to come to his church, to save us, but he helped people out even if they weren't interested. And he didn't mind answering all my stupid questions. Was rather nice to look at as well," Draco took the other waffle out of the toaster and began applying nutella.

Potter frowned "Are those toaster waffles?"

"As opposed to?" Draco asked.

"Toast?" Potter said, "What are you doing to them?"

"Nutella. Or well, off-brand nutella," Draco said, "I could only afford a knock-off version with the money I had left." He held out the waffle to Potter.

"What?"

"You could use more chocolate in your life," Draco said.

Potter sighed and begrudgingly took the waffle from Draco.

"It won't kill you," Draco said.

Potter took a bite off the corner and conceded, "It's pretty good."

Draco nodded.

"Not really breakfast food, though, is it?" Potter said.

"Where in the rule book does it say that?" Draco asked.

Potter made a face, "I mean, it's just one of those things. Unwritten rules."

"They tend to be the stupidest kind," Draco said, "The only good thing about being an adult is you can eat whatever you like, whenever you like."

"And sit on countertops apparently," Potter said.

"It's very satisfying," Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes, "It's unsanitary."

"That's what cleaning spells are for. More waffles?" Draco asked.

"...Nah, I better not. I want to get a couple hours of sleep and clean up before the- the press thing," Potter said sourly.

"Mr Potter is as popular as ever. Do things ever change?" Draco said.

"Unfortunately not," Potter glowered.

"Tea?" Draco asked, looking through the cupboard for another mug.

"This is fine," Potter said, lifting Draco's old half-finished cup.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Waste not, want not," Potter said under his breath as he deliberately took another drink of tea.

Draco found a mug at the back of the shelf that looked like it hadn't been used in years. It had a picture of a kitten on it clinging to a branch. Beside the kitten, it read 'Hang In There!' in large comic sans type with all apparent sincerity.

Draco gave the mug a cursory wipe out with a kitchen towel before filling it with hot water and a teabag from one of the nicer black teas.

"He didn't manage it then," Potter said out of nowhere.

Draco frowned at him.

"The priest. He was trying to save people but, you- well, you're-"

"A massive fuck-up. Yes, I have noticed," Draco said sarcastically. "I would hazard to guess he was trying to save people in the religious sense. Not the drinking themselves to death way."

Potter chewed on his bottom lip, looking down at the mug in his hands. "So you were drinking even before you were living at that place? The flat I saw?"

"...I think I started drinking when I was seventeen."

"What?" Potter looked up, startled. "Seventeen?"

Draco absently toyed with the string on his teabag, fighting down a yawn. "...Hm... might have been sixteen. Yeah... I think that was before my birthday."

"Malfoy, that's- I..." Potter's words seemed to die in his throat.

Draco took the teabag out of his cup and vanished it.

Potter awkwardly looked back down into his mug.

"Weren't you going to sleep?" Draco asked. He dropped his foot off the edge of the counter, looking around for the sugar bowl. Draco frowned; everything was a mess.

Potter lifted the mug to his lips, finished the tea, and set it in the sink. He grabbed the sugar bowl sitting on the other side of the kitchen and handed it to Draco.

"You should probably try getting some sleep too," Potter said.

"I have to go to group counselling today," Draco said.

"When?"

"Three? Two?" Draco said. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the exact time but couldn't.

"Then we can both sleep for five or six hours," Potter said, "I'll wake you up by noon. Alright?"

Draco blinked. Potter's tone made him feel off balance.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked.

Draco nodded silently.

"...Good," Potter said. He stood there for an awkward moment then left, going into the bathroom.

Draco finished his tea, listening to Potter clean up, going from the bathroom to his bedroom. As silence fell over the flat once more, Draco slid off the counter and went back to his bed.

"Malfoy." A socked foot nudged Draco's shoulder.

Draco grimaced, turning his head away.

"Get up, Malfoy."

Draco groaned and curled deeper into his blankets. He must have eventually fallen asleep at some point, but it didn't feel like it.

"Come on. I've got to leave," Potter said.

"Then leave," Draco grumbled.

Potter sighed, and Draco could easily imagine him rolling his eyes, "You said you were going to counselling or something today, so I- I'd rather know for certain that you're awake before I go."

"How noble," Draco said and didn't move.

Potter's foot pushed him again, more forcefully.

Draco blindly shoved Potter away, "You're disgusting."

"Then get up," Potter said.

Draco reluctantly sat up. He could have believed he had a hangover; he felt so rung out. Except there had been no drinking the day before or hair of the dog to make up for it.

" 'M up," Draco said.

"I'd rather you stood up," Potter said.

"I'm awake," Draco said, annoyed, "You can fuck off now, prince charming."

Potter made a strangled noise in his throat, "No. No way. You're not calling me that."

"You started it with the 'princess' thing," Draco said, trying to muffle a yawn.

"Yeah, well-"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're not going to get up, are you?" Potter said.

"I am up, Potter," Draco said.

"Fine," Potter said, turning and walking away, "Fine."

Draco absently waved him off.

Potter went into his room and apparated away.

The schedule Mindhealer Iris had given him was in the little pile of things at the end of his mattress. Draco stared at the pile, then down at his hands, curled loosely in his lap. His t-shirt was wrinkled, and his jeans had dug into his hip. He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

Draco knew he needed to move. He needed to get the schedule, check the time, make a plan.

The blanket was still draped over his legs, warm and inviting. He tangled his fingers together and squeezed his hands.

He needed to move.

And didn't want to.

He wanted to go back to sleep.

It wasn't as if he had to go. The counselling wasn't part of the agreement. Well, technically, it wasn't. And the agreement had been 'whatever he wanted'. And he wanted to lie back down and sleep.

He was so tired.

So tired.

There was a muffled crack from inside Potter's room, and then Potter was there again. He had a large coffee in his hand, "Here."

Draco took the cup without thinking. It was warm.

"It's a mocha," Potter nodded to himself, "So it should be sweet enough."

Draco stared at the drink, then looked back up, thinking that Potter really was nice. It made no sense. There was no reason for Potter to be nice to someone he didn't like. He didn't have to be nice to Draco. No part of their deal said Potter had to be nice.

"Anyway. I need to get going," Potter said, turning on his heel and heading back into his room.

"...Thanks," Draco said before Potter could disappear again.

Potter paused to give Draco an awkward nod. He looked like he was looking for something else to say but gave up. He quickly stepped out of sight and apparated away.

Draco lifted the cup and took a tiny sip. The liquid burned his lip. Draco hissed and quickly flicked his tongue out to nurse the spot, stinging and sweet. But the heat of his mouth only made the pain worse.

Draco breathed out to cool the burn. Then he leaned over and riffled through the pile of junk at the end of his bed, pulling out the group therapy schedule and slowly got to his feet.