Chapter Text
It wasn't that Draco particularly liked rooming with Ron and Harry, but it certainly did have its benefits.
Harry had become prone to excess after being deprived as a child - the fire was always toasty, the snacks were plentiful, and there was always alcohol stuffed somewhere, if you knew where to look. Of course, Draco still put up the pretense of being offended to room with a couple of die-hard Gryffindors, but everyone knew he didn't really mind. He no longer spat the word git at anyone, or shot curses at Harry's back - now he murmured prat in a barely venomous voice, and occasionally threatened to curse Harry's bollocks off if he left another article of clothing on the floor. And more often than not, when he called one of them an imbecile they just laughed, even going so far as to muss his hair on multiple occasions. It was almost unbearable, and yet Draco found that once he had it, this casual, easy relationship pleased him.
Draco hadn't exactly been desperate to come back to Hogwarts, but it certainly felt safer than trying to enter the adult wizarding world as a Malfoy. The name was no longer an entry ticket to high society, and while many people generally agreed that Draco himself had been a manipulated child, that didn't mean they wanted to work closely with him. His father was imprisoned in Azkaban, although there were no longer dementors guarding it. His mother lived in France, unable to bear living in the Manor where everything had finally spiraled out of control. All Draco really wanted was to keep his head down and study hard, hoping that things would die down just a little over the next year so he could find himself a decent job where he wasn't in the public eye.
Studying came easily to Draco, especially when he didn’t have the Dark Lord breathing down his neck, threatening his family, and casually leaving him alone with a bunch of depraved death-eaters every chance he got. Now, the other eighth years often made a game of it, testing how annoying and ridiculous they had to be to break Draco’s concentration – apparently he’d not noticed when Millicent Bulstrode and Justin Finch-Fletchley had a hot-dog eating contest that had resulted in a rug being discarded, no cleaning charm able to rid it of the smell of vomit. In his defence, he’d been thoroughly entranced by Wilbur S Pimms’ description of Grindylow familial relationships.
Pausing his reading, Draco rubs a hand across his dry, gritty eyes. He looks up from the desk and sees that the sky is black, a faint glimpse of moonlight edging the window. He'd been so focused on studying for his potions essay that he hadn't noticed the lights in the room come on, or the increased crackle of the fire that always seems to go hand in hand with the cooler nights up in the hills. There’s an ache in his left temple, accompanied by the hollow feeling of an empty stomach, not to mention the pressure of a full bladder. The uses of moonstone in dealing with misfired curses is something he is fascinated by, so it hadn’t felt at all like a chore to do the reading. Rotating his head to stretch his neck, he can see Ron and Harry ensconced in the large, comfortable sofa that sits before the fire. They're talking quietly, leaning forward with their heads close together, Harry idly nursing a beer. They’d been studying earlier, hours earlier in fact, when Draco had started.
‘Did you send that letter to Hermione?’ Harry asks Ron. He nods in response. ‘Is it weird writing to her now?’
‘Nah. She’s still my best friend. There are just fewer references to certain parts of her anatomy, if you get my drift.’
Harry snorts, not dignifying that with a verbal response.
‘She talks a lot about her job, she clearly loves it, saving all those creatures, making sure they’re treated with dignity. Who knew that SPEW would actually lead to something?’
‘Does she talk about who she’s seeing now, or is that a no go?’
Ron presses his lips together, and squeezes his eyes shut briefly, before laughter escapes him. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you, because I only got the letter today, when you were in magical creatures, and I forgot until just then, but Harry-’ he breaks off, laughter taking over again, ‘you’re not gonna believe this. She went on a date with Lavender!’
‘Lavender?’ Harry asks, clearly confused. ‘Hang on, Lavender Brown? The one who used to suck your face off all day!?’
Ron just nods, unable to speak. When he can finally breathe again, he fills Harry in, and Draco can’t help listening to what sounds like an utterly ridiculous, absolutely farcical debacle. ‘She said she knew it was a bad idea, but Lavender kept prancing around in these slinky dresses, not taking no for an answer, so she gave in. And on the date Lavender was asking about me, if I was single, and, being her usual oblivious self, did not pick up on Mione’s cease and desist signals. Then, when they left, she kissed Mione, and Mione said it was exactly as awful as she imagined, having seen the way she latches on like a leech. And then, get this, Lavender offered to help, if Mione and me wanted to get back together.’
Harry blinks, once again appearing not to gather Ron’s implied meaning. Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes, but duly reminds himself to remember that Harry has little to no inferential reasoning skills, at least when it comes to relationships.
‘Mate, she wanted us to have a threesome. She’s just as crazy as she was back in fourth year!’
‘Fucking hell. Poor Hermione. Besides, I can only think of one person who could convince you to get back with Hermione for a threesome at this point.’
Ron raises his eyebrow in question.
‘Krum, obviously.’
Ron huffs a laugh. ‘More fucking likely then Lavender, anyway.’
Clearly a joke. Ron’s not into blokes, right?
They fall into friendly silence again, although Ron occasionally chuckles to himself again, clearly delighted by imagining Hermione’s horror story. Distraction gone, Draco is once again reminded of the impending migraine. He doesn't know if he can be bothered finding any food tonight - he just wants to rest his head on his pillow and let the silk and the drowsiness take care of his headache. Stretching his arms above his head, he again rotates his neck from side to side, trying to ease the kink that comes from studying hunched over. Embarrassingly, his tummy lets out a loud gurgle. Harry turns with a snort.
'Hungry, Malfoy?' He grabs a packet of something from the table on his right and chucks it at Draco. Draco reaches up and snags it from the air. A bag of crisps. He huffs loudly.
'I suppose I shall have to make do with this measly offering.'
'Should've gone down to dinner mate, if you wanted fine dining,' Ron shrugs.
'You call that fine dining?' Draco snorts.
Draco tears open the packet, making quick work of the crisps inside, turning away before carefully licking the salt from his fingertips, so nobody can witness such a base act. He grabs his fastidiously folded, slate-grey silk pyjamas from his bed and pads toward the bathroom, hoping to get through his usual routine in record time. Going to bed with a headache sometimes leads to the reappearance of his nightmares, and he prefers to avoid them if possible, especially when in company.
Re-entering the room he smothers a yawn with his hand, tersely calling 'night' to Ron and Harry and closing his bed-curtains. As predicted, he falls asleep rather quickly, but is soon tossing and turning in the throes of a nightmare, in which Cedric Diggory chases him throughout the gardens of the Manor, and he's forced to watch as Nagini swallows him whole. Just as Nagini's looking interested in Draco himself, he wakes up, heart pounding. He clutches his fists in the cool silk of the sheets, trying to breathe as slowly and quietly as possible. His hair is slicked to his skin, and he feels a tad shivery. He starts to reach out, thinking he'll grab his wand and perform a quick warming spell, when he hears a low groan coming from the other side of the room. Draco freezes, heart lurching, wondering what danger awaits - snake, Dark Lord, Greyback come to maul him beyond repair. And then comes the groan again, followed by a decidedly pleasant hum, and the sound of sheets shifting, like someone's moving about. All at once Draco's muscles relax, and he has to fight the insane urge to laugh - all that panic, and one of the other boys is just tugging himself off. Bit rude of them to forget to use a silencing charm, but it wouldn't be the first time Draco had listened to a roommate wanking.
Except - he stills again, listening intently to make sure he's not hearing things - there comes an answering moan from the other corner of the room. Draco's brain feels foggy, like it's moving in slow motion. What in the actual fuck is happening right now? There comes another groan, and a whispered 'fuck', which sounds like Harry, and then slick, wet sounds coming from the other corner, as if Ron is rubbing his lubed-up cock. There comes another quiet moan, and it isn’t long before the soft sounds become more rapid. 'Gonna come,' is murmured lowly, 'me too' the breathless answer. Draco hasn't moved a millimetre, and isn't sure if he's taken a breath in the last 60 seconds. He hears the distinct grunt of someone shooting their load, before a gasp and the bed creaking. Sheets rustle briefly.
'Night Ron,' whispers through the room.
'G'night,' comes the sleepy answer.
Draco lays awake for what feels like hours after that, endlessly replaying the sounds he'd heard. Harry and Ron? Harry and Ron. Ron and Harry. Seriously? Fuck. Draco ignores the fact that he's very hard right now, because there's no way he's risking moving and revealing that he had been awake while they...masturbated together.
If he’s honest with himself, Draco thinks both of them are pretty fit now. Ron has always been tall, and he'd taken up boxing 6 months ago, developing muscle and bulking up those broad shoulders. Harry has also filled out, although he’s a runner, so it was often his lean thighs and toned buttocks that Draco glanced at when he thought nobody would notice. He never even suspected that either of them might be into men, although the conversation has never explicitly come up. Seriously though, Ron and Harry? The very idea seems crazy.
Eventually, after what feels like an eon spent convincing himself he hadn’t just imagined the whole thing, Draco's mind quietens enough that he falls back to sleep, although he carries his thoughts into dreamland with him.