The Only Gay Eskimo

Archiving: just ask.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: H/D
Date Written: August 5, 2005
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: H/D for [info]astra_argentea, who wanted H/D moving into a new apartment. This one's also untitled, but I considered calling it "The Only Gay Eskimo."

Harry was just putting his favorite mug away (a gift from Fred and George that said “I <3 Voldemort”) when he heard voices coming from the hallway, one strange, one unmistakable.

Oh god, he thought. Draco’s meeting the neighbors.

“We’re not from around here,” Draco was saying. Harry groaned and tried to fumble his way across boxes and furniture without killing himself. “I tried to find a place near my estate in Wiltshire but it’s just impossible to find a decent apartment there, all the property is landed, you know. My father always said apartments were wastes of time and I must say I quite agree, as I don’t see the sense of paying rent when one owns an estate as I do, but as you can see, I have been overruled. Ah, here’s the bloody tyrant now. Hello, Harry.”

Harry gritted his teeth and smiled apologetically at the lady standing before Draco. She was currently looking a little dazed. “Oh, hi,” he said, extending his hand. “Sorry about him—I don’t normally let him out of the house.”

“This is Mrs. Miggs,” said Draco grandly. “Mrs. Miggs is a schoolteacher. Mrs. Miggs, this is Harry Potter. Potter isn’t much of anything at all, but for some reason we all have high hopes.”

“Are you two boys going to school around here?” said Mrs. Miggs as Harry shook hands.

“Er, no,” said Harry. “We’ve graduated—we work for the government.”

“What, so soon out of college!” said Mrs. Miggs appreciatively. “And you both look so young, too.”

To his right Draco squirmed, and Harry had a sinking suspicion as to where this conversation was leading, a suspicion confirmed when Mrs. Miggs continued, “You know, I have a couple of friends I think you gentlemen might like to meet. I could arrange a little get-together some night and you could get acquainted with the girls—”

“Thank you,” Draco broke in while Harry was attempting to stop flushing, “That would be lovely, Mrs. Miggs.”

Harry turned and stared at Draco, who continued blithely, “Except that we haven’t quite explained. You see, Harry and I aren’t rooming together.” He slipped his arm pointedly through Harry’s own, and Harry found himself experiencing a sudden surge of possessiveness and lacing their fingers together. “We’re living together.”

Mrs. Miggs’ eyes went wide. “Oh,” she said slowly. “Oh, I see.” And then, “Oh, dear.” She nodded and took a step backwards as though afraid they might be catching. “Of course you’ll still be welcome to dinner anytime,” she said uncertainly.

“Fabulous,” said Draco. “I’ll bring the fruitcake.”

Harry pinched him. Draco pinched back, with, Harry thought, a great deal more pinch than was absolutely necessary. “Just be glad,” Draco added, as Harry winced and poor Mrs. Miggs watched, “That you don’t know our secret.

He winked, and the hallway lights may or may not have winked with him.

Harry grabbed Draco and hauled him inside. “That’s it. Back inside your cage,” he muttered.

“Oh, Harry,” purred Draco. “You’re such a benevolent master.”

The door shut behind Harry firmly, and Draco’s cackling, and the subsequent noises Harry produced from him in efforts to get him to shut up, did nothing, Harry was sure, to improve Mrs. Miggs’ opinion of the barely legal gay wizards living next door.

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