Breakfast Saga

Saturday 6^th May 2000.

Hermione.

9.14am.

I pour my coffee and begin to stir. Three turns clockwise; three turns anti-clockwise, then clock-wise again.

"Would you stop being so pedantic about stirring your bloody coffee!" my breakfast companion snarls at me, and I merely grin back. The fact that it is my flatmate Draco sitting with me, and not a random stranger he invited home last night, indicates he didn't get lucky last night. No wonder he's grouchy.

Our Saturday morning ritual has been the same almost every weekend since Draco moved in with Harry and me over a year and a half ago, and today offers the first variation in months. Every Friday night we go out with our respective friends, while Saturday evenings are usually reserved for each other's company. Every week Draco comes home with a different person - male or female depending on his mood - and I am left to serve breakfast and make small talk the following morning. Harry does much the same; although when he first began bringing men home they'd often leave before even I'd gotten up.

I don't see much of Harry's partners even now, as he usually sees them out of the flat before emerging for an early-morning coffee. Normally, Draco remains in bed until nearly noon, and I'm expected to gently inform his one-night stands that they are exactly that, and they shouldn't expect him to owl them. If Ron is around he usually butts in, and says it in a very unsubtle and rude way, but right now he's on tour with the Canons. The fact that today Draco has graced us with his company before noon can only mean he came home alone last night.

**

Draco.

9.18am.

I glare at Hermione a bit, but it's not really very helpful, and I can't help but feel a bit guilty for taking my hangover and bad mood out on her. It's really not her fault that this complete twat let me suck his knob outside a club last night, but didn't even have the common courtesy to return the favour or let me bring him home.

That is the last time I suck on anything without a promise of sexual gratification in the short-term future. I was left to walk home with a semi hard-on, and then wank off to the sounds of Potter and his latest bloke in the room opposite mine. I now appreciate why Hermione worked so hard to perfect the sound proofing charm around her bedroom. God knows what it sounds like in the hallway when I pull too.

I quickly smile apologetically at Hermione when I hear Potter let someone out of the flat, turning my glare to him as he ambles into the kitchen with bed hair, askew glasses and the most ridiculous smile I have ever seen on anyone at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning.

Looks like Harry got laid. As usual.

Humph.

**

Hermione.

9.20am.

I befriended Draco Malfoy in seventh year. It wasn't something anyone - least of all I - expected, but our friendship blossomed nonetheless. I'd found him drunk and in tears in the Prefects' conference room, angry and distraught over his break-up with Pansy. He swore off women all together then, told me that men were the way forward. I was inclined to agree, especially as I'd just began seeing Ron that week, and was very much living in lover's paradise.

Surprisingly, Draco and I managed to be civil toward each other. I didn't find him half as annoying as I usually did, but perhaps it was merely because he was insulting my gender rather than my heritage. He was drunk, of course, and probably blind to whom I was other than someone to whine to. The drink had loosened his tongue, and he spoke freely - and tearfully - over his break-up. Apparently the Slytherin Prince did have a heart after all.

Draco pointed out several more times that evening that he hated women, declaring he'd be a political homosexual if only for the sake of his battered heart. I had a feeling he was being a little melodramatic at the time, but there was some truth in it, and I chose not to mention the rumour regarding his sexual orientation that had already been circling the school corridors.

When we said goodbye hours later he was decidedly less tipsy, yet bid me goodbye using my given name, and so I responded in kind.

That night, when I returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry dropped the second bombshell of the evening; he'd decided he was gay. I gleefully confessed Draco's newfound sexuality to him, and Harry scoffed, proclaiming he wouldn't even shag Draco if he made mooneyes at him over the breakfast cereal.

A week passed, and Harry decided to keep quiet about being gay, not wanting to arouse even more publicity after the endless tirade of paparazzi after he'd defeated Voldemort. Draco, however, was far more open, and the following Saturday night I spotted him getting off with Terry Boot behind the broom shed. A further week later, though, and Draco seemed to be back on the girls as I spotted him chatting up Pansy's friend Alexa.

Our formidable friendship began sometime around this time, while he was considering his sexuality, and finally defined himself as "up for anything, really."

Ron and Harry became grudging friends with Draco out of respect for me, but none would converse unless I was around.

Harry and I moved in together after we graduated. Technically Ron still lives with his family, but he spends more time here than he does there. The flat we bought is huge, not through our own choice, but due to the estate agent insisting that nothing but the best would do for "Mr Potter and his lady friend". It has four bedrooms, originally a bedroom each for Harry and I, plus two guest rooms, but now we have three bedrooms, and the final room is used for all of Harry and Draco's Quidditch junk.

Draco came knocking on our door six months after we'd moved in, asking if he had a sofa he could crash on for the weekend because his father had kicked him out after finding out Draco was "a ruddy pillow-biter". Harry ostentatiously showed Draco to the sofa, before I insisted he stayed in one of the guest rooms. One weekend turned into a week, and then a fortnight. After two months, Harry decided to demand rent from him and our living arrangement has remained the same ever since.

However, by the jealous look Draco is now giving the door that Harry just closed, I'd say our group dynamic is about to shift.

**

Harry.

9.28am.

Draco looks a little peaky this morning, that's probably why I heard him growling at Herm when I was showing David to the door. I don't know why she puts up with him: he's a right twat most of the time. The only reason I put up with him is because Hermione insists on it. That, and the view I get every morning when he crosses the hall between the bathroom and his bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips. Hermione teases me for checking him out, but no matter how much of a pain in the arse he is, he really does have quite a nice arse.

**

Saturday 13^th May 2000.

Hermione.

9.37am

For the second week running I share my Saturday morning breakfast with my blonde flatmate. Something is undoubtedly up. Not that this week Draco didn't bring anyone home, he certainly did because I heard her storm out of the flat at 2am this morning. His companion for the evening- Alexa, a girl we knew from school- did not sound best pleased when she'd left. I decide to ask Draco how his evening went, already knowing the answer.

"Bloody awful!" he growls, and scowls disdainfully into his coffee.

"Oh?" I inquire as if I didn't hear all of that commotion last night.

"I may have said the wrong name at a rather crucial moment." He tells me flatly, and I have to bite back a smile. To be honest I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner with the amount of people he has on the go.

"Any name in particular?"

"No. But it was er, the wrong gender as well."

I fail to hide my snigger this time. It's too bloody priceless.

"It's not bloody funny!" Draco retorts hotly.

**

Draco.

9.40am

Women are a complete waste of space. Even Hermione, whom I thought I could have a mature conversation with, seems overcome with giggles at my unfortunate expense. And Alexa - the woman I intended to spend last night with - is a complete twit; getting all het up just because I said the wrong name. Besides, it's not like the two names are vastly different, I wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't gone off on one about it. "Harry" sounds like "Alexa", doesn't it?

I definitely do not intend to tell 'Little Miss Giggles' the name I said. She'd assume things, things that wouldn't be true. Just because I said the magnificent pouf's name does not mean I think about him in any sex relate way whatsoever, just that he and his latest were being awfully loud in his room. Again.

No, I definitely don't want to shag The Man who Moaned.

**

Hermione.

10am

I'm quite curious to know who's name Draco said. Obviously it's someone I know or he wouldn't hesitate to share his grievance with me.

Perhaps it's Ron. That would be quite funny: Draco having the hots for my boyfriend.

Harry comes into the kitchen moments after Draco and I have lapsed into silence. He's only wearing his boxers, which is odd as he usually dresses before breakfast. Not that I mind, of course, and you really can't blame a girl for looking. Nor a boy, either, as Draco seems to be getting quite an eyeful of our semi-naked flatmate.

I watch Harry curiously as he potters around the kitchen making two cups of tea, and two plates of toast. Now I know Harry, and although he loves me, and gets on with Draco, he'd never be in such a favourable mood that he'd make breakfast for us. Which leaves only one option.

"David is staying for breakfast." He grins, impishly.

Of course; Harry and his boyfriend are getting serious. If only they could learn to be a little more quiet about it.

Harry walks - almost skips, actually--out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom. I'm glad he's happy for once.

Unfortunately, Draco looks quite the opposite. I watch him glower at the doorway where Harry and hovered before I stand to do the washing-up.

**

Harry.

10.28am

I felt strangely guilty about inviting David to stay for breakfast. No one except Ron and Ginny has ever stayed for breakfast when they stayed over, Ron because he and Hermione have been together almost three years, and Ginny because she wanted to catch up with Hermione after she'd spent the night with Draco. It was a morning like no other when Ginny had appeared from Draco's bedroom to spot Hermione, Ron and I all watching her. Ron didn't speak to either she or Draco for a month afterward. Suffice to say, they haven't seen each other in *that* sense ever since.

And I do like David; despite the slightly disconcerting serious turn our relationship has taken that's unnerved me immensely. I have seen him for three weekends straight, and multiple weeknights in-between. He's intelligent and sweet and very easy on the eye. He's a bottle-brunette (I keep telling him to go back to his original blonde), with eyes that are almost *too* blue, and the same amazingly stylish dress sense Draco possesses that I've never been able to master. But despite the fact he's everything I want, he's not what I want.

Hermione is going to kill me for breaking up with him before she even got to interrogate him.

**

Saturday 20^th May 2000.

Hermione.

8.14am.

I eat breakfast alone this Saturday, for the first time in three weeks, although Harry will probably join me shortly, while neither Draco nor Ron will emerge until they smell bacon sizzling. Draco finally brought someone home again last night, and got him to stay until at least dawn, no less. Ron arrived home for an impromptu visit yesterday, so he and Harry went on a pub-crawl last night, while Ron promised me we could Apparate to Paris tonight. I feel bad for leaving Harry and Draco alone on a night usually reserved for the three of us, but I haven't seen Ron in so long, and the boys could probably use some quality bonding time. I'm sure they won't mind. It'll do them good; they've been rather tetchy with each other recently.

**

Draco.

9.30am.

Hermione is completely off her rocker. Why on earth she'd suggest Potty and I spend some "quality time together" is beyond me. And Potter probably. Shit, he is going to complain about this a lot. Maybe I should just go out myself tonight.

I don't want to be stuck at home if he's going to bring his boy-toy around. I'd rather not see those two all over each other. Unless Harry gets naked. That'd be a nice thing. Not that I fancy Harry, of course. I just think he's got a nice bum. And chest. And face. And probably a dick, but I don't know about that one. I wouldn't mind knowing, though.

"I might pop out tonight, then." I announce to Hermione as Harry stumbles into the kitchen. He's wearing his Quidditch pyjamas, which means he spent last night alone.

"You two don't have to cancel our normal plans just because I won't be there, silly!" Hermione reprimands, but Harry says nothing. "You could rent that Muggle film you both wanted to see but I didn't, or something."

That's not a bad idea, actually, but I'm hardly going to admit I want to watch a film with some cute brunette strutting around in a leather coat when the plot sounds too confusing for words and the only redeeming feature is that said cute brunette looks a lot like our Potter.

"I thought Harry would like to have the place to himself with whats-his name." I suggest as Harry slumps on the chair across from mine. He looks like he hasn't slept a wink.

"Are you ok, Harry?" Hermione inquires, and begins clucking around him like a mother hen.

"Hmm?" He blinks, dazedly. "Oh, right. I just had a weird dream. Didn't sleep too well."

**

Hermione.

9.33am.

I learnt to interpret "Harry Language" when I was fourteen years old. If it's something important to Harry, he rarely says what he means. By "weird" Harry usually means evil, or sexual, although due to Harry's unfortunate love life there's very little difference between the two. Harry has learnt to share when he feels something evil; not telling led to bad things when we were in school. So that leaves one option; Harry had a dodgy dream last night.

And, by the way he is now refusing to look my favourite blonde pillock in the eye, I'd wager Harry dreamt about Draco last night. Oh, happy days!

**

Sunday 21^st May 2001.

Draco.

10.30am.

Both Potter and I consented to stay in last night, much to Hermione's rather odd glee. It didn't, however, go particularly well. At least not what I remember of it, anyway. The Boy Who Heaved and I may have gotten a bit plastered. It was the only way of spending a bearable evening with him that I could think of. Well, perhaps I imagined another agreeable way of spending the evening to him, but I couldn't see Potter actually going along with it. Potter and I watched some odd Muggle film about a big boat that sank, not my choice. Potter seemed quite fond of this blonde prat in it, though. I don't think I'll ever mention to anyone that I saw this film; it's not worth the embarrassment.

Speaking of embarrassments, why are my trousers undone? And where is my shirt? Perhaps I fell asleep on the sofa after Potter crawled off to die in some God forsaken corner. Perhaps there was porn on Hermione's telewhatsit, and that's why my trousers are undone. That doesn't really explain my shirt, though. Or the red bite around my nipple. Oh hell, I hate getting shit-faced. It's not really worth mentioning to Potter, though. From what I remember, he was a lot worse than me. I think.

**

Harry.

11.07am.

Ugh.

Remind me never to get drunk again. Ever. Especially in the company of people who think it's a good idea to constantly fill up my drink. In fact people like Drac--oh shit.

Shit.

Oh God.

How am I ever going to face him again?

Oh God.

**

Draco.

11.15am.

Hmm. There is something that looks suspiciously like spunk on my trousers. There *must* have been porn on. There's only a bit, though. I wonder where the rest of it went.

**

Harry.

11.17am.

Oh God.

I can't believe I got drunk and sucked Malfoy's dick.

Oh shit.

And bit his nipple.

Oh fuck.

My life is effectively over. How am I ever going to be able to look at him, let alone live in the same house as him?

Ughh. I think I'm going to be sick.

**

Hermione.

11.18am.

I arrive home with Ron to find Harry diving for the bathroom (followed by the sounds of hurling), and Draco sprawled - half naked - over the sofa. God knows what they've been doing, and quite frankly, I don't even want to know.

Oh hell, of course I want to know if they've done it!

**

Saturday 27^th May 2000.

Hermione.

9.23am.

As I later coaxed out of Harry - Draco doesn't remember, or so he claims - he and Draco both admitted to fancying the pants of Leonardo DiCaprio (God help them) and then each other. They then, Harry bashfully told me, kissed, and Harry gave Draco a blow job. Somewhere in the process, Harry bit Draco's nipple. I know this because for the last week Draco has made me put ointment on it for him, lest it get infected from Harry's spit. Harry then stumbled into his room, drunk and embarrassed, whilst Draco passed out on the sofa, which was where I found him the next morning.

Harry is dreadfully embarrassed about the whole thing, bless him. "But I fucking hate him, Herm," he told me. "Why would I want to shag him?" I felt sorry for him, and gave him a hug. I felt so sorry for him in fact, that I didn't point out he may as well have just admitted to me that he wanted to shag him.

Draco has been beastly about the whole business, although it wasn't till I told him that he actually found out. He threatened to sue Harry for taking advantage of him in his weakened state, until I pointed out he tried to feel me up when he and I were drunk last Christmas.

Suffice to say they have spent this last week putting all the energy they had into avoiding each other.

Until about 2am last night, it seems.

**

Flashback.

01.37am.

"Urgh, Malfoy! You're standing on my toe." Harry complained as he and his roommate walked - or drunkenly stumbled depending how you looked at it - into their flat.

In response, Draco slammed the door shut, and then slammed his lips against Harry's. The kiss would have come as somewhat of a surprise to the famed wizard, should he have not spent the last four hours grinding in a club with the blonde who was currently molesting him, followed by a near indecent exposure to a teenage couple in an alley behind the club.

Harry responded enthusiastically - a little too enthusiastically in Draco's opinion as they bumped teeth - to Draco's kiss, moaning against his already swollen and heated lips.

Somewhere lurking in the back of Harry's alcohol addled mind, he was aware this was a truly stupid idea, especially if he ever wanted to be able to look Draco in the eye again, then again, he'd settle for Draco actually being able to remember their encounter this time.

Draco tried to push Harry against the hallway wall, tripped slightly, and fell into Harry. Harry, taking the initiative as Draco stumbled into him, steered them both into Draco's bedroom and flopped together onto the bed, still kissing.

**

I heard very little of what transpired last night - thank God, but from one I did I gather that my two flatmates have now established some sort of relationship.

**

Draco.

9.25am.

Hmmm. Nice warm bed. Nice warm quilt. Nice warm Harry.

Oh fuck, it looks like I'm never going to be able to rid myself of this (rather sexy) twat, now.

Harry.

9.27am.

Shit.

Oh well, it could be worse, I suppose. At least Draco isn't evil anymore. I roll over and smile at Draco.

Hermione.

9.43.

Oh Jesus Christ, they're at it again!

-- finis.