the boy squad

Times have changed

Inspired by this post. @dangerousmuffindiplomatbailiff sent that to me AGES ago and asked me to write something 💖💖

Words: 4.7k
You can also read it on AO3 :)

Harry looks sadly at the batted trunk standing in the hallway. He can’t believe it’s the last of Ron’s things. Then again, it took almost five days to pack up his room, even though there always seemed to be nothing more than his bed, a closet and a few posters on the walls. Apparently, one can stuff a lot of things under a bed, and hide a lot of things in a single closet, besides clothes.

“I really hate to leave you here.”

Harry turns around and looks at his best friend’s crestfallen face.

“We’ve had some good times here,” he continues, clapping Harry on the shoulder while his eyes wander around the flat.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s happy for Ron and Hermione. He knew they would want to move in together someday. Still, it feels like the end of an era.

“When’s the new guy getting here?”


“I can’t believe I didn’t even get to see the guy. He’s going to be living in my room! I should have had a say in this.”

“I’m the one who has to live with him,” Harry points out with a grin. “Besides, I haven’t seen him yet, either, remember?”

“Yeah, about that,” Ron says, his face more serious. “Maybe I should stay until he gets here. I think it’s a little fishy he couldn’t come here in person and you guys only sent each other letters.”

“It’ll be fine, Ron,” Harry assures him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Ron still looks a bit unconvinced but after one last hug, he grabs his trunk and shuffles out of the flat.

“I’m still here if you need me, yeah?”

“I know,” Harry smiles. He watches Ron as he walks down the stairs; it’s almost as though he’s taking a little piece of Harry’s heart with him.

He closes the door and leans against it for a moment. It’s going to be so weird to be sleeping here alone tonight. He hasn’t been on his own in almost three years.

Surely enough, when he gets himself a butterbeer and plops down on the sofa to watch some TV, it feels like something is missing. There’s usually a running commentary and a bunch of question, since Ron still doesn’t fully grasp the concept of Muggle television.

It’s late into the night, and Harry is almost asleep on the sofa, when the doorbell rings three times. Harry blinks at the door. Who could that be?

Reluctantly, he drags himself off the sofa and tumbles over to the door. When he opens it, however, his drowsiness evaporates as though he’s just been hit by lightning.

“M—Malfoy?” he stammers, not believing his eyes.

“Potter,” Malfoy says with a slight nod.

“What are you doing here? And what’s with all these boxes?”

“I know you were expecting me tomorrow, but I—”

“Expecting you? What? I—” No. What? No way!

“I’m your new flatmate,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly.

“That’s impossible,” Harry croaks. “My new flatmate is—”

“Malcolm, yeah. That’s me.”

Harry stares at him, not entirely convinced he isn’t dreaming.

“Honestly, I don’t know if it was bold or stupid of you to use your real name,” Malfoy drawls. “You must have gotten a million letters.”

“Well, yeah, I—” Harry shakes his head. “You can’t be serious about this. You can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Harry starts, without knowing how to continue.

Malfoy sizes him up, his brows furrowed. “Wow, what a knock-down argument.” He rolls his eyes and breezes past Harry, his boxes floating through the air behind him. He takes a quick look around and wrinkles his nose. “It’s much smaller than you said.”

Harry scowls at him.

“I assume this is my room?” he asks, pointing to his right. Before Harry can answer, Malfoy marches into Ron’s old room, the boxes trailing after him.

Harry jumps when the door is slammed shut. Did that really just happen? What the fuck!

He paces around the living room for a few minutes, his eyes glued to Ron’s door. Well, it’s Malfoy’s door now, isn’t it? How in Merlin’s name did that happen? Why would Malfoy want to live with him anyway? They haven’t seen each other in years. Last time Harry saw him was after his trial. They talked awkwardly over coffee and it was pretty clear Malfoy didn’t want anything to do with him.

Feeling extremely wary but also exhausted, Harry scuffles into his room and slips under the covers. As expected, he doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night, tossing and turning instead, wondering what his former nemesis is doing in the other room.

When the morning sun glitters through his window and he hears birds chirping cheerfully, he finally gives up on sleep.

He clutches the sink as he waits for his coffee, feeling like death warmed up. His head is pounding and it almost feels like his limbs are detached from his body. Good thing it’s Sunday. He wouldn’t survive Auror training like this.

He sits down at the kitchen table, his hands curled around his mug. “Just breathe, Harry,” he murmurs to himself. “Maybe it was a dream after all.” His eyes automatically wander over to the living room which is empty.

After his third cup of coffee, he starts feeling edgy and restless. It’s almost eleven and Malfoy still isn’t up. What the fuck is he doing? Harry contemplates knocking on his door but… what then? On the other hand, waiting for Malfoy to finally come out of his room is driving him insane. He starts pacing in front of his door, pausing several times with his fist raised, ready to knock. He stops dead when he hears a quiet cough and… some rustling. Oh boy, Malfoy must be getting up.

Harry darts into the kitchen and tries to act nonchalant as Malfoy passes him on his way to the bathroom.

“Morning,” he grunts. Harry just nods. His scalp starts to prickle when he hears the shower running. This can’t be real. Draco sodding Malfoy is in his shower. Merlin’s beard.

Harry is still sitting in the kitchen when Malfoy exits the bathroom half an hour later, a towel wrapped around his hips and his hair still wet. Harry gulps. The only thing weirder than Malfoy being in his shower is having Malfoy half-naked in his kitchen, leaning against the sink, sipping coffee.

“Care to explain what this is all about?” Harry says, trying not to stare at Malfoy’s bare chest.

“Whatever do you mean?” Malfoy replies with a little smirk.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“I live here now,” he says with a shrug.

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