3rd Christina ficlet, for shubassdk. H/D, 264 words, and, blah, I really hate this, but it's a rainy, depressive day, and this is the best you'll get out of me.

And Now For Something Completely Different.



Harry has taken to locking the doors of his flat, not because he particularly cares who gets in or why they want to, but because Hermione has yelled at him about it once too many times.

“You have to lock your doors and keep yourself safe, Harry,” she says. “It’s what people do.”

Where it gets tiresome are the wards—they’re complicated and time-consuming; easier to buy a Muggle security system and call it safety. And Harry does, for three months after Voldemort’s death, until Draco Malfoy slips into his apartment and sits on his couch for three hours, awaiting his return in growing frustration.

“It’s no fun killing someone who wants to die,” Malfoy snarls when Harry walks in and blinks at him. “But of course, you have to take even that from me, don’t you, Potter?”

“Don’t kill me, then,” Harry says, knowing he could crush Malfoy’s life with a snap of his fingers, and not really feeling the point. He sits down beside Malfoy on the couch, and Malfoy is too busy staring to keep his wand trained on Harry’s throat.

“Do something different,” Harry says, and proceeds to fall asleep where he sits next to him.

When he wakes, it is morning, and Malfoy is still beside him, eyes wide and sleepless.

“What exactly is it you think I should do?” he sneers when Harry rubs his eyes and looks over.

Even though it is early yet, and he should probably shower first, Harry shows him.

All in all, he decides, he’s not that fond of what people do, anyway.