They'd started fucking in sixth year.
Well, after Harry caught Draco crying in Myrtle's bathroom at the start of the year and it had all come out, the plans and the fears for his family and his own terrible incompetence, they'd made a plan to save his skinny blond hide. This meant Draco had owed him and one of the few redeeming beliefs purebloods held, Harry discovered, was that debt was to be taken immensely seriously. Draco couldn't in all conscience be an arsehole to him if he owed him, and when Draco wasn't being an arsehole he wasn't really all that bad. Harry felt a bit sorry for him. Then he felt a bit as though he'd rather misjudged him.
Then he thought he'd rather fancy a shag with him, given that Cho was still being a damp sponge and Ron and Hermione were off subjugating and Colin wouldn't do it without his camera and Ginny wouldn't do it at ALL and Harry's last really great fuck had died during the bloody awful TriWizard mess.
Then Dumbledore died, and much as Harry liked Malfoy (how weird was that?) he didn't have time for his little pity party about losing his whole family when he turned spy. Harry'd lost his whole family sixteen years ago.
Still, sitting in his rubbish-filled pit of a bedroom in impossibly boring, impossibly middle-class Privet Drive, Harry sometimes missed him. He hadn't written, like Ron and Hermione had, and he hadn't visited Arabella at all, like Remus and Tonks had.
Maybe Harry should have done something different. After all, he did know what it was like to lose his family.
Still, it wasn't like Draco was a friend or a boyfriend or anything.
Which was why it was such a stunner when someone knocked on the door during breakfast one bright summer morning, and when Harry answered it, Draco stood there on the doorstep -- looking rather frightened, all things considered.
"Well?" he asked insolently. He didn't sound frightened. "Are you going to ask me in or what?"
"What?" Harry asked. Draco sighed and pushed past him.
"Is that breakfast? I know I smell bacon. I flew here from Oban and I'm ravenous. Oh god, what are those?"
"That's the Dursleys," Harry said. Draco was pointing at the breakfast table, where Vernon and Petunia were sitting on one side. Dudley was sitting on the other; Harry's plate was hidden behind the television.
"Are they real?" Draco asked.
"I beg your pardon," Vernon huffed.
"I said, ARE YOU REAL," Draco repeated, in the sort of tone tourists use in foreign countries. Harry covered his face with one hand.
"This is Draco Malfoy," he said. "He's a...friend."
"Looks like a poofter to me," Dudley snorted.
"And you look like a side of beef, but I have more manners than to say so. They're not improving my opinion of Muggles, Potter," he added, pulling out one of the two chairs Dudley was occupying and seating himself at the head of the table. He took two slices of toast and began piling eggs and bacon on them.
"You! What do you want!" Vernon roared.
"For you to shut up. What on earth is that? How do I stop it talking?" Draco demanded, pointing at the television.
"He's one of THEM, isn't he?" Vernon demanded.
"Listen, Draco, we can talk somewhere else..." Harry started, but Draco lifted his chin insouciantly and shook his head.
"Got my orders; I'm to actually sit down and talk with these...lumps. You, get me some pumpkin juice," he said to Dudley, then turned to the Dursley parents. "Right. I'm taking Potter out of here as soon as we've eaten. Why are you hovering?" he asked Harry, who had been anxiously standing behind his chair, keeping one eye on Dudley. "Anyway. I don't imagine he'll ever want to come back here, but I'm going to register you on file with the Ministry as emergency Muggle contacts. You'll get an owl in a few weeks. You can throw out whatever's in it, as far as I'm concerned. Seriously, Potter, sit the fuck down before you give me a case of nerves."
Harry sat, obediently, behind the television.
"If any bank accounts, trusts, or other financial interests have been opened in his name, I will require that paperwork. You will give us enough time to pack Potter's things, and you might pack us a nice lunch, too, as it'll be a bit of a journey. If you speak about him, ever again, for any reason, rest assured we will know and there will be Consequences. Is that understood? Where is my juice?"
To Harry's shock, Vernon and Petunia nodded, slowly. Draco finished the last of his toast and rose, fastidiously dusting crumbs from his fingers.
"I'll do without juice, then. Come along, Potter."
Harry led him up the stairs and into his bedroom.
"That was rather fantastic," he said, as he packed his shirts into his trunk. Draco picked up one of Dudley's old broken remote-controlled racing cars, studying it curiously.
"Well, never send a Lupin to do a Malfoy's job. Hurry up, Merlin knows what kinds of ghastly diseases I'm exposing myself to."
Harry dropped an armload of books into the trunk and began cleaning off his bedside table.
"Did you ask to come?" he said casually. Draco snorted.
"I don't ask. I said I would come and that was the end of it."
"That was good of you. You didn't write at all."
He was leaning over the bed, reaching for a photograph he'd pinned to the wall; he felt Draco's fingers on the nape of his neck, gentle.
"Words aren't really my strong suit," Draco said. Harry straightened and turned, wrapping his arms around the slim boy's shoulders. Draco opened his mouth just wide enough for the kiss to be a little less than chaste. He also slid his left hand down and squeezed Harry's arse, hard. Harry jumped back.
"Come on, Potter," he said. "I've got a suite at the best hotel in the less disgusting part of Diagon, and I've been waiting four weeks to tie you to the bedposts there."
Harry blinked. "So that bit about packing a lunch for a long journey -- "
"Harry, I just said I was going to fuck you stupid and you're worried about details like lunch?" Draco sighed at Harry's expression. "They're like really complicated wind-up toys, Muggles. I just did it to see if they'd actually make one."
"Good to have you here," he said, kissing him again.