All Things Settled

Lines

Rings And Things

"Hey, Harry."

"Oh, hi Ron."

Ron took a seat at the kitchen table beside Harry Potter, his best friend of the last ten years. Given the morose look on the other man's face, Ron thought that maybe something wasn't quite right.

It was fairly late in the morning, and Ron had just Flooed over to Harry's apartment in order to escape the loud cries of the newest Weasley child. Hermione hadn't been too pleased with him leaving, but as their three year old had just overturned a pitcher of pumpkin juice, she hadn't been able to stop him from heading over to Harry's just as fast as the Floo Network would allow.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, helping himself to a cup of coffee.

"Wrong?" Harry repeated, his eyes widening. He sat up straighter in his chair, knocking over a salt shaker with a spastic motion of his hand. "Nothing's wrong! Everything's great!"

Ron raised a red brow in suspicion. "Yeah right. What is it? Trouble in paradise?"

Harry sighed. "No. Well, not exactly..."

"What'd that git do this time? Can I beat him up?"

Harry looked alarmed by the hopeful expression on Ron's face. "What?! No, of course not!"

Ron slumped, reminding himself not to get his hopes up. He'd been waiting ten years to sock Malfoy, and if he had to wait another ten, it'd still be worth it. "If he didn't do anything, then why do you look like someone just kicked a puppy?"

"It's nothing like that. It's just, well... We're going out tonight." Harry trailed off, looking anxious. Ron gave him an odd glance; it wasn't like Harry to get nervous, especially not over something as simple as a date. At least not if that date was with Draco, whom he'd been seeing for far too long, in Ron's opinion.

"So?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry exhaled quickly and spoke in a rush of words, "So, we're going to the Rose and Thistle."

Ron didn't get it. As usual.

"What's that go to do with any--" Then, quite suddenly, a thought ocurred to him. "Wait a minute..."

Harry continued on, oblivious to Ron's difficulties in following the conversation. "It was my idea to go, but I'm still not sure it's the right place... You know how Draco is..."

Ron was close to panicking now, and Harry still wasn't listening to him. "Harry... You don't mean... You're not going to..."

"I mean, when it comes to him, everything's always got to be perfect, and what if I screw it up? What if something goes wrong?"

"Oh Merlin." Ron wanted to cry, or maybe just to hit something. Like Malfoy, for instance. "That's where I--where 'Mione and I--"

"Maybe I should call it off." Harry had gotten hold of a napkin and was slowly tearing it to pieces. Little bits of white tissue were showering the table like snowflakes. "You know, buy some time to think of something better. What do you think?"

Now Ron wasn't listening. "Isn't this a little fast? Bloody hell, Harry, you're only twenty!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Twenty-one, actually."

"You can't just rush into things like this!"

"Ron, we've been dating since sixth year," Harry reminded him bluntly. Ron decided to ignore him.

"This is bad." Ron jumped up from his seat and began rooting through the papers and things scattered across the kitchen counter. "Where's the floo powder? We need to get Hermione. She'll know what to do."

Shaking his head, Harry attempted to catch a paperweight on its way through the window. "She's the one who helped me pick out the ring."

Ron blanched. "Ring?! There's a ring?"

It was hard not to roll his eyes again, and Harry almost suceeded in not doing so. "Well, most people buy a ring when they want to propose..."

"This can't be happening. I mean, I knew you loved the git, but... marriage? Are you mad?"

Ron was expecting pigs to start flying any minute now. Next thing he knew, Voldemort would reveal himself to be a house elf in disguise, the Hufflepuffs would take over the world, and Hermione wouldn't know the answer to something.

"Ron!" Harry cried, tugging him back to his seat. Ron only just then realized he'd been hyperventilating. "Get a grip! You'll have a heart attack at this rate!"

"... You're right," Ron said slowly. His face was still very pale, and Harry was watching him like he'd explode any minute now. "Maybe I'm just overreacting. It's not that bad, is it? So my best mate's going to marry one of the most irritating, slimy ponces I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Things could be worse, right?"

Harry frowned. "Er... I don't think I appreciate you insulting my boyfriend of the past five years."

Ron smirked. "Heh, well, at least it's not like you're gonna get hitched to Snape, or Trelawney, or something."

"Yuck, Ron! Whatever happened to moral support? Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Sorry, Harry." Ron was sorry; he even attempted to look apologetic, but it didn't quite work and only resulted in Harry shooting him an even more concerned look. "But you know how I get about him."

"Yeah, yeah..." Harry trailed off, obviously remembering just how Ron "got" when Draco was around. Or not around. Or just existing.

There was a long pause then. Harry began to tear what was left of the napkin, watching Ron's face anxiously.

Finally, Ron sighed in defeat. "But really... I think you've got the worst taste in the world, but I know how much you love each other. It's rather nauseating."

"Ron?" Harry asked, his green eyes shining in the way that only Harry's could.

"Yeah?" Ron grumbled.

"Is that your way of giving us your blessing?"

Ron shrugged noncommitally. "It could've been."

Harry grinned. "Thanks."

A Little Off

They were standing in the middle of the living room, staring at a rather odd painting that had been hung in the center of the wall, directly above a tan couch. It was extremely hot in the room, and Draco had been cranky all day, complaining at first about the heat wave, then about the "lousy" cooling charms that "didn't do a good goddamned thing", and then finally about the coffee Harry had made him earlier. Needless to say, Harry wasn't in the best of moods either.

Harry examined the painting critically. "It's crooked."

"It is not," Draco returned, eyeing the painting as though the lives of millions hung in the balance, waiting upon his decision. "You should get your glasses adjusted. It's exactly parallel."

Harry laughed. "With what? The staircase? Look at it. It's sloping to the left."

"Don't be ridiculous. I checked it with the ruler."

He produced the aforementioned ruler, which was, Harry was amused to note, entirely green and silver, and had a fancy calligraphy "M" printed on one end.

"Oh really?" Harry asked, trying not to laugh as Draco presented his ruler with all the flourish he could muster. "I wasn't aware you knew how to use one."

Draco glared at him. The ruler was placed carefully back into his pocket. "Oh shut it, Potter. You're just jealous."

"Of what?"

Draco's pointed nose was so high in the air that Harry wondered whether he could actually see beyond it. "Well, aside from my dashing good looks and charming personality, you can't stand the fact that I simply have better taste than you as well."

"You forgot your sharp wit. I positively burn with envy over that."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Harry." Draco was highly unimpressed, and had made sure Harry knew it by shooting him a glare that clearly informed him of just how unimpressed he was. "And anyway, you're avoiding the subject. You're only complaining because the painting I chose is so much better than that disgusting excuse for art you hung in the hall."

Harry folded his arms across his chest. This was a sore spot for him. "The only reason it ended up in the hall is because you wouldn't let me hang it here."

Draco dismissed Harry's annoyance with a careless wave of his hand. Harry half-wanted to throttle him. As if the day hadn't been bad enough as it was, nevermind Draco picking fights over the most ridiculous things he could think of. "Whatever. I was afraid it might offend our guests."

"What guests?" Harry scoffed. Draco looked offended. "Ron and Hermione? Pansy?"

"You Gryffindors may all be complete uncultured sods, but it doesn't mean that we Slytherins don't appreciate the finer things in life."

Harry sighed. "You are such a ponce, Draco."

Draco sniffed, giving Harry a pitying look. "It must be hard for you, living with someone like me. You must feel threatened by my superiority."

"Oh, it's difficult, all right."

As usual, Draco continued on without any regard to Harry having spoken at all. Harry knew he'd heard, though, because his left eye was twitching. "You should be grateful that I let you keep that other thing in the house. It's dreadful. At least one of us has enough sense to buy something worth looking at."

"Assuming we don't give anyone a neckache, that is." Harry tilted his head in order to attempt to look at what was obviously a very crooked piece of artwork, and rubbed his neck in order to better prove his point. Draco looked disgusted.

"You're not still going on about that, are you?"

"It's still crooked, isn't it?"

Something Like That

When someone returned home from a long day at work, Harry thought that it was usually appropriate to greet one's lover/spouse/family/whatever. A simple "Hello, dear, I missed you today" was always nice, or even just an "I'm home". Instead, when Draco walked in the door one evening at nearly seven o'clock, after having been gone all day, the only thing he said was, "What is that?"

Harry glanced away from the TV program he'd been watching, his green eyes wide and his face a mask of complete innocence. "What?"

Draco looked at him suspiciously. Okay, maybe that was a little too innocent. Harry toned it down a little.

"That. Don't tell me you can't smell it."

Harry laughed nervously. "Oh, it's uh, nothing. I mean, it was something, but now it's not, so it's... nothing."

There was a long, tense pause as Draco simply stared at him, and Harry stared back, neither one entirely satisfied with the direction this conversation was taking. Draco looked especially exasperated.

"I'm sorry Harry, but I'm afraid you've lost me. Again. What, exactly, was that peculiar piece of logic supposed to mean?"

"Er..." Harry looked about the living room for an escape. "Maybe I'll just go open a window..."

Draco's lips pursed in annoyance. Harry froze on the couch. That wasn't a good sign. "As lovely as that would be, I'd rather you didn't go anywhere until you explain to me why my house smells like Snape."

Harry frowned. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"...Yes, perhaps you're right. Snape never smelled this horrible. Merlin Harry, my eyes are watering! What the hell did you do?"

Harry could see that things were going down hill rather quickly. If there was one thing Draco couldn't stand it was a mess (Harry often wondered how they'd ever managed stay together for as long as they had). And if there was one thing Harry didn't want Draco to see at the moment, it was the kitchen.

"It's sort of a long story and, um, Draco, why is the lamp shade on your head?"

And indeed, Draco was standing in the middle of the living room with a lamp shade on top of his head. And Harry had thought he'd seen everything.

"This is all your fault, Potter," Draco whined from beneath the lamp shade. It was fairly disorienting just listening to him. "My hair is curling. I can feel it. Ugh, I'll never be able to go out in public again!"

Harry knew distress when he heard it, and Draco was most definitely distressed. Harry hurried over to him, taking his shoulders and trying to lead him over to the couch. Instead, Draco broke away, threw off the lamp shade and began to head straight for the kitchen. "Draco, love, calm down! Draco--wait, where are you going? Please don't go out there--Draco?"

Another long pause.

"Harry..."

Harry coughed, and tried not to squeak. He wasn't entirely sucessful. "Yes?"

"What is this?"

There was an edge of danger in Draco's voice that Harry didn't like. Breathing through his mouth in order to avoid the stench that was emanating from the kitchen, Harry moved closer. Draco was standing on the threshold of the kitchen, his eyes wandering over the scene aimlessly. He was as stiff as a board. Harry rather thought he could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

"What?" Harry asked, pretending not to have noticed anything out of place.

Draco made a jerky motion with his hand, gesturing toward the kitchen. His voice was somewhat brittle when he spoke. "This."

"Oh." Harry cleared his throat. "It's, um... dinner...?"

"Dinner" was not actually in just one place. In fact, "dinner" was pretty much everywhere at the moment. Dinner was on the ceiling, on the floor, dripping off the cupboards, hanging from the faucet, flaking away from the refridgerator and seeping into the living room.

Draco made a face Harry hoped he would never see again. "Dinner?!"

Studying his toes carefully, Harry answered, "Well, yes..."

"I thought we'd decided to go out tonight?" Draco asked tightly. There was just a hint of desperation in his voice.

Harry had never really noticed how interesting his feet were before. There were all these interesting pieces of lint stuck to his socks, and this red line that ran over his toes...

"We did," he answered, eyes still glued to his feet, "but, well, it being our anniversary and all, I guess I just thought that, I don't know, maybe it'd be nice if I made you dinner for a change."

In the many years they had been together, Draco could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Harry actually cook anything beyond instant Macaroni and canned soup. Not only did Harry hate cooking, but he seemed to have a natural talent for blowing things up, burning things, or simply destroying whatever he came in contact with. It was little wonder he'd never been any good in Potions.

So the fact that he'd actually made the attempt, in order to please Draco, was significant.

Draco stared. "Oh. I see."

Then, quite suddenly, Draco swooped in, pressing a deep kiss to Harry's lips and wrapping his arms tight around him. Harry's hands found their way up to his hair, where they tangled themselves in the fine blond strands. It was almost amazing how well they fit together, as though there was a magnetism between them, drawing them together. The heat of the moment made Harry half-delirious with hazy pleasure, and he found himself fighting a losing battle to remain upright.

Harry gasped as Draco released him. "What was that?"

"What?" Draco asked innocently, his grey eyes narrowed with amusement. Harry was still sucking in desperate breaths, all air temporarily removed from his body.

Harry gestured vaguely between them, his eyes still focused on Draco's lips. "That."

Draco smirked. "That was a thank you."

"Oh..." Harry was still staring at Draco's mouth, and Draco found it difficult to actually concentrate on what was going on with those green eyes pinned on him. Harry leaned forward, returning the kiss with all the fervor and heat of the last.

Draco pulled away, leaning back in Harry's embrace, a small smile spread over his features. There was a message in Harry's eyes, but he couldn't quite seem to decipher it.

"Hm?" he asked, not yet capable of anything more coherent than that.

When Harry smiled, it seemed like his entire face was glowing, and the heat from it was washing over Draco in golden waves. There was nothing quite like seeing Harry smile.

"... You're welcome," Harry answered, and then he smiled.

Closet Monsters

"Stop tapping," Draco snapped, dropping his fork onto the table where it landed unceremoniously among the remains of some mashed potatoes. Harry's fingers paused breifly, then quickly resumed their frantic rhythm.

"I'm not tapping," Harry retorted, even though his fingers spoke otherwise.

Draco frowned. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh no? Then what would you call it?" Draco asked sarcastically.

Harry shot him a hopeful glance. "Involuntary hand spasms?"

It was fairly clear from Draco's expression just what he thought of Harry's explanation. Leaning back in his chair, he studied Harry carefully. The other man had been uptight all evening, ever since Draco had returned home from work. Now he was seated on the edge of his chair, his back perfectly straight and his fingers drumming noisily against the table. "Ugh. You've been fidgety all evening. What's your problem?"

"Me?" Harry asked, going all doe-eyed and overly innocent. He laughed. "Nothing. Why would you think something was wrong?"

"So there is something wrong then. Well? What is it?"

Harry glared at him. "I told you. I'm fine."

"If you were fine, you wouldn't continue to drive me mad by twitching all over the place."

This statement seemed to get Harry to calm down a bit, but he still seemed to be overly anxious about something. Whatever it was, it was making Draco nervous, too, just looking at him, and that mixed together with his infernal tapping was enough to drive Draco to kill.

"Look, Draco," Harry said placatingly, obviously lying through his teeth, "it's nothing. I swear."

"Whatever," Draco said dismissively. If Harry was going to start lying to him, then he was going to start ignoring Harry. "If you don't want to tell me, then I'll just--"

Just then, Draco froze. He could've sworn he'd just heard something...

"Uh, Draco? What's the matter?" Harry asked, watching as Draco glanced around the house in paranoia.

It was a faint noise, so quiet he could just barely hear it, but it was there, Draco was sure of it. He looked over at Harry, frowning. "What's that scratching noise?"

"Hm?" Harry answered innocently. Draco expected him to start whistling in the near future. "I don't hear anything."

"There it is again! There's something in the apartment!" Draco exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. Harry popped up behind him, shadowing him as he moved out of the dining room and into the living room. He could hear it now, a scratching sound that was getting louder as he moved through the room.

Harry shot him a concerned look, but Draco could tell that underneath it, Harry was actually twitching with anxiety. "Er, Draco, I don't know what you're talking about. There's no one in the apartment but us."

It was louder than ever now, coming from just beyond the couch. He rounded the end table, drawing closer to a door set in the wall not some six feet away. Harry tagged along behind him, trying to draw him away, toward the couch.

"Shh! I think it's coming from over here..."

"Draco...?" Harry called, tugging insistently on his arm. "Draco, love, why don't you come sit down? Please?"

There, Draco had found it now! Whatever it was was going to be sorry when he was through with it. He drew his wand, prepared for battle. "It's in the coat closet! Something's scratching at the door in there!"

"Draco, put your wand away. Please, it's nothing, really... No, wait, don't open the--!"

Harry's protest came too late however, as Draco flung open the door, wand poised. For a long moment there was only darkness, and then, with an ear-splitting, china-breaking screech, a white blur leapt out of the shadows, attaching itself to Draco's head.

"Fuck!" Draco cried, clawing at his head as he tried to remove the monster that had lodged itself there. He didn't even want to think about what was happening to his beautiful hair. "Get it off me!"

Harry was attempting to grab it, but Draco's struggles only made things twice as difficult as they already were. He'd almost gotten the thing off when Draco's elbow connected with his forehead and Harry yelped, pressing a hand to his throbbing scar.

"Stop flailing!" Harry shouted. Between the monster and Draco, it was hard to say which one was yowling louder. "You're only scaring him!"

"Get it off!"

"I'm trying! Just hold on--There, you're fine!"

There was a long silence, Draco clinging to his bloody hair, and Harry trying to hold onto the creature that had attacked him. As they looked back and forth between each other, Harry got the distinct feeling that things probably weren't going to turn out very well.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear the explanation behind this one," Draco snarled, wiping away a stream of blood as it rolled down his face.

Harry bit his lip nervously, still holding the struggling animal to his chest. "It's, um, well... It's complicated?"

"Why was there a cat in our coat closet?" Draco asked. The coldness of his calm voice was enough to send shivers down Harry's spine, and he wished, for the first time in his life, that he were a little braver.

"Um... Magic?" Harry squeaked.

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay! Calm down!" Harry cried. He stroked the cat's head, eyeing Draco uncertainly. "He followed me home from work today, all right? I didn't know what else to do with him, and I couldn't just leave him out there in the middle of a storm..."

"I hardly think that five minutes of rain qualifies as a storm," Draco snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You know what I mean," Harry retorted dryly. "And look at him! He's all skin and bones!"

"So take it to the bloody pound!"

"I can't do that!" Harry gasped, horrified. "What if they put him to sleep? The poor old thing... How can you be so heartless?"

"Oh, don't start." Draco was pressing tissues to his head now, trying to absorb some of the blood from the scratches that lined his scalp. His pale hair was crusted with it, and Draco had a feeling that if he could see himself at the moment, he'd go into cardiac arrest. "No. Absolutely not. You know how much I hate cats."

Harry certainly wasn't above begging, when it came to that. "C'mon, Draco... Please? He'll be good, I promise!"

"Good?" Draco parroted. He gestured wildly to his head, and the cat's claws dug themselves into Harry's arm with each sweeping movement. "The damn beast attacked me the minute I opened the closet door! Just look at it! It's glaring at me!"

"He is not," Harry grumbled. He patted the cat sympathetically, ignoring the wounds that now covered his forearm. "Don't be stupid. Persians look like that all the time."

"It's hideous. I won't keep it in the house." Draco actually sneered at the cat, which was so much like the old Draco Harry had known back at Hogwarts that he found his temper rising automatically to the occasion.

"Maybe you've forgotten," Harry began angrily, "but I live in this house, too. And I want to keep Oscar."

"Oscar?" Draco repeated. He looked between Harry and Oscar with equal looks of complete horror. "You named it?"

"Yes. And I suggest you remember his name, because he's going to be here for awhile."

"Oh, you're impossible!" Draco emphasised his point by placing his fist quite firmly against the wall, which shook timidly beneath it. He remained like that, leaning with one hand pressed against the wall, glaring bloody murder at Harry and the cat. The hideous, savage cat whose name was Oscar.

Draco had never heard anything so ridiculous in all his life.

...

...

"Draco?" Harry said quietly, still uncertain as to whether Draco was safe to approach yet. Draco rather hoped he'd press his luck, just so he'd have something to unleash his anger upon.

"What?" he snapped.

Harry coughed nervously. "You're, uh, tapping..."

"I am not!"

Schnoogle

Of all the wonderful things that had come along with Draco, Harry's absolute favorite was waking up with him. There were those perfect, peaceful moments in the early morning when Harry would lie awake for hours just watching Draco sleep, and even though that sounded a bit creepy, it was Harry's favorite hobby. He thought that it was romantic, no matter what Draco might say to the contrary.

Harry loved Draco when he was sleeping because it was easy to imagine that Draco was just as nice and innocent as he looked. Although, Harry had to admit, he probably wouldn't like Draco quite as much if he were anything other than Draco, and nice and innocent were definitely two non-Draco traits.

"This is nice," Harry commented on one such morning. He was curled up around Draco, his head buried in the crook between Draco's neck and shoulder. There was golden sunlight streaming in through a half-open window, allowing a gentle spring breeze to carry in the sent of flowers and cut grass. Draco was all smooth, cool warmth, and Harry loved him more than he thought was possible.

"Mm." And that was all Draco had to say.

He wasn't much of a morning person. But Harry didn't mind.

Harry sighed happily, playing with the edge of the sheet while Draco drew lazy circles on his forearm. "You know, I never would've imagined that you of all people would be a snuggler."

The lazy circles ceased immediately.

"Snuggler?" Draco repeated in horrified disgust. "A Malfoy Does Not Snuggle, Potter."

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at Draco's frowning face. He arched a brow. "Then what do you call what we're doing right now?"

Draco returned his stare with dignified silence, his expression completely serious, and then answered, "Schnoogling."

"And the difference is...?" Harry was finding it difficult to speak, what with the grin that was threatening to split his face in half.

"It's manlier."

"..." Harry gave up on speaking altogether.

Draco was once again frowning, this time in indignation. "Harry... Are you laughing at me?"

"...No..." Harry managed between snickers.

Draco sat up, the sheets pooling in his lap. Harry was shaking with laughter at this point, and the look of complete offense on Draco's face wasn't helping matters any. "You are! You're mocking me!"

Harry attempted to calm himself. "I'm... Ahem... I'm not laughing at you..."

Later on Harry swore that Draco had growled in frustration, and Draco firmly denied it, claiming that Malfoy's do not growl, except for during certain pasttimes, which Malfoys do not speak about in polite company. "Then what, pray tell, is so bloody funny?"

"I can't say," Harry informed him, struggling to keep a straight face. "It's a private joke."

Draco snorted. "You can't have a 'private joke' with yourself, Harry."

"Says who?"

"Me, obviously. Who else matters?"

"Oh, of course," Harry responded, rolling his eyes. "Silly me, forgetting that all things revolve around Draco Malfoy and his grossly enflated ego."

Sniffing disdainfully, Draco spoke to him as though he were a misbehaving child, or perhaps a Weasley. "There's no reason to work yourself into a snit over it."

"You're the one who's upset, not me," Harry retorted. Draco had leaned back against the headboard, stretching luxuriously and watching him through narrowed eyes. The entire display was completely distracting, and Draco knew it.

"Yes," Draco allowed, letting his piercing gaze settle on Harry. Harry tried not to squirm, but it was difficult. "Because you laughed at me."

Harry grinned cheekily. "I can't help it. You're so cute when you're stuck up."

"That's it," Draco grumbled, pushing aside the sheet and sliding his feet out of bed. Harry had to remind himself not to lose focus, but after that display of tantalizing white skin, defeat was inevitable. Draco shot him a hurt look, or at least the closest thing to looking hurt that Draco could manage. It was more ornery than anything, really. "I can't take this abuse anymore."

"What?" Harry asked, alarmed. He was quite enjoying himself, and he was in no mood for it to end. Besides which, the idea of Draco on a bed was particularly appealing at the moment. "No, don't leave!"

Draco smirked, obviously following Harry's train of thought. "Why not?"

"Because..." Harry trailed off, grabbing Draco's wrist and tugging him back into bed. Draco came willingly, although he managed to get most of the pillows for himself in the process. Harry smiled. "This is nice. I like snuggling with you."

Draco sighed in exasperation. "It's schnoogling, Harry. Get it straight."

The double entendre was more than Harry could handle, in his current state. "Heh..."

Rolling his eyes, Draco hit him over the head with a pillow. "Don't you dare start laughing at me again, you Gryffindor ponce!"

"I'm not laughing..."

Fin!