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Harry’s eyes open. He’s not in his bed. He jolts up and looks around wildly, taking in his surroundings. He relaxes. He’s on a couch in the eighth year common room. He must’ve accidentally fallen asleep here. No surprise since Malfoy has completely destroyed his sleeping patterns.

He casts a quick tempus charm. 4am. Still time to head up to bed and get a couple of hours of real sleep before class at least. If Malfoy doesn’t keep him up, that is. He readjusts his skewed glasses and takes the stairs up to his dormitory. He pauses at the doorway to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. While he waits, he listens. It’s quiet. Eerily so. Immediately Harry is on edge. Where is the rustle of Malfoy’s sheets? The padding of his feet across the room? The running water from the bathroom? The drawn out sighs?

Harry steps into the room gently, trying to make as little noise as possible. He, unlike, Malfoy, is careful not to wake others from their peaceful sleep. As he approaches his bed, his eyes dart over to Malfoy’s curious to see what he is doing if not making a ruckus. Malfoy’s bed is empty. Harry’s first thought is one of concern: Where is Malfoy? Is he okay? His second thought, which he is ashamed to say causes him to completely forget his first, is Finally. A quiet night!

Harry excitedly changes into his pajamas, eager to slide into bed and drift off immediately for once. He’s just about to jump into bed when he notices it. A body. On his bed. What the fuck? He blinks and takes a closer look. Merlin’s beard. It’s Malfoy. Malfoy is in his bed. And what’s more, he’s sleeping. Malfoy is sleeping. Not tossing and turning, not sighing, not playing the bongos, he’s actually sleeping!

Both shocked and tired, for a moment Harry isn’t able to think what to do. He just stands there staring down at his Malfoy covered bed. Why is Malfoy in his bed? Did he miss something? Is it a prank? He looks around, waiting for someone to jump out, but no one does. The room is still. Malfoy has once again ruined Harry’s night, this time by doing the exact opposite of his usual routine: sleeping.

Well, Harry’s not just going to stand here all night. He wants to sleep. And quite frankly, Malfoy can fuck right off.

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy.”

Draco is unwillingly pulled into consciousness by an insistent prodding in his left arm. He lifts his eyelids lazily, letting the world slowly come into focus. It’s dark. Very dark. Why is he waking?

“Ouch.” Oh yeah, that’s why. “What are you doing?” Draco mumbles as another jab is directed at his arm.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“What?” Draco blinks rapidly, his eyes still unfocused. He recognises the voice though. “Potter?” Why is Potter waking him?

“Get up.” Orders Potter’s cruel voice.

Draco rolls over, burying his head in the pillow. “Don’t want to.”

“Fucking hell, Malfoy.”

The covers are ripped from Draco’s body exposing him to the chilly air. He whips his head back to face Potter, unfortunately now instantly awake. “What do you think you are doing?” He demands.

“Get out of my bed.”

“Your bed?” Draco looks at Potter. Then looks around. He looks at the four poster bed in the corner of the room by the window. His bed. Ah. He looks back to Potter. Shit. Draco’s up in a flash, scrambling over to his corner and hiding himself under the covers, hoping this is all a bad dream. How mortifying to be caught sleeping in Harry Potter’s bed! He’ll never been able to show his face again. He’ll have to – wait. He was caught sleeping in Harry Potter’s bed. Sleeping.

And that’s when Draco realises it. He’s just had the deepest sleep he’s had in a long time, and he’s had it in Harry Potter’s bed. Harry Potter’s soft, warm, wonderful smelling bed. Fuck. Fuck.

Rustle. Rustle. Sigh. Rustle. Harry’s dreams of a Malfoy-less sleep have been spat on, wadded up and thrown into the trash. Now, not only is Malfoy making unnecessary noise in his own bed, but he’s also left traces of himself in Harry’s bed. Spearmint. Ink. Soap. It’s not half bad of course. It might even be pleasant if Harry didn’t know it was Malfoy’s scent. All over his pillow. How is Harry supposed to sleep now?

Better question: why was Malfoy sleeping in Harry’s bed in the first place? From Malfoy’s reaction to Harry awaking him, he had clearly found himself in Harry’s bed accidentally. No mystery there. But why, no how, was Malfoy sleeping? He had been so still, so peaceful, so deeply asleep. For Malfoy, it was unheard of. Why couldn’t he sleep like that in his own bed? It would make Harry’s nights so much easier.

Harry rolls over into his pillow, which has the unfortunate consequence of heightening Malfoy’s scent. Harry resigns himself to the fact that he can’t escape it. Spearmint. Ink. Soap. He’s actually starting to like it. Merlin, he could fall asleep to this. Rustle. Or not.

Draco is out of his bed at sunrise. He hasn’t slept a wink since returning to his own bed, but he still feels more rested than he can ever remember. It’s terrifying. Potter’s bed did that. Draco walks the quiet castle corridors, pacing. How could sleep allude him for so long and then present itself in the most unlikeliest of places? The bed of his arch…no, of his ex-arch-enemy. Because they’re not enemies anymore. How can they be? Potter saved Draco’s life. The war’s over and they’re finally both on the same side. Now, they’re simply nothing to each other.

And to be caught by Potter? It’s absolutely humiliating. He’ll never be able to face him again. He certainly won’t be going near Potter’s bed again. And yet, if Potter’s bed is the key to sleep…no. Draco can’t think like that. It has got to be a coincidence. There’s nothing special about Potter’s bed, and certainly nothing special about Potter. Draco’s just getting better, that’s all. His insomnia is finally weaning, and Draco can start to reclaim his life.

Another restless night in his own bed says otherwise. He’s going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Malfoy has been avoiding Harry since the incident two nights ago, which suits Harry quite nicely actually. He may be enjoying the scent Malfoy left behind, which still lingers faintly, but it doesn’t mean he has lost any of his animosity to the dickhead. He only wishes that Malfoy could find somewhere to go to avoid him at night as well, because Harry is about to lose it.

Last night, Malfoy was in and out of bed six times, six! Harry knows because he was awoken every single time by the creak of Malfoy’s bed, by the unmuffled footsteps, by the light peeking under the bathroom door. He put up with it like every night before it, holding his jaw tight and his knuckles clenched, but there’s only so much he can take. Only so many disruptive nights before he snaps.

Tonight, he enters the dormitory early, hoping to get some sleep before Malfoy turns in. Malfoy’s always late to get in bed. It’s Harry’s only opportunity. Except, that would be too good to be true, because Malfoy’s already at his own bed, fiddling with his pillow. He looks up sharply as Harry enters, his face reddening, his expression startled. Harry stares at him a moment longer, trying to ascertain the reason for Malfoy’s odd behaviour. When nothing obvious is forthcoming, Harry drops eye contact and sighs. So much for getting in some sleep.

Harry heads to his bed anyway. He’s tired. Perhaps by some miracle Malfoy will go away and leave him alone. He sinks into his bed and lets the softness embrace him. He breathes in without thinking, eagerly anticipating the scent he’s gotten accustomed to over the last two nights. Spearmint. It’s strong tonight. Ink. Much stronger. Soap. It’s all encompassing. Before Harry can question it, he’s fast asleep.

Grapefruit. Draco sleeps the whole night through. Honey. He doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t toss. He doesn’t sigh. Ginger. He simply sleeps. It’s wonderful.

Harry awakes, instantly suspicious. At first he’s not sure why, only that there is something very wrong. He looks around warily and reaches his conclusion. Malfoy is sleeping soundly in his own bed. Soundly. And Harry can’t recall being awoken from Malfoy’s usual late night habits. Has Malfoy finally learned how to sleep? It’s a miracle. And Harry feels amazing. He has had his first uninterrupted sleep this year. He could certainly get used to this.

He does. A week of amazing nights of sleep pass and Harry feels great. Malfoy’s scent remains, as strong as ever, as if clinging onto his pillow, and Harry doesn’t particularly mind, not that he’d ever admit it.

He hasn’t bothered to work out what is going on with Malfoy. If the git is getting more sleep, then it must be a good thing. There’s no point dwelling on it. Harry had spent his whole sixth year fixated on the guy, he has no interest in doing so again.

But it turns out he has no choice in the matter. Because tonight he walks into the eighth year dormitory to find Malfoy, back to the door, hovering over his bed, Harry’s bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Malfoy pivots around to face him and that’s when Harry notices his pillow being held in Malfoy’s hands. Malfoy follows Harry’s eyes and then quickly throws the pillow back on Harry’s bed as if stung. “N-n-nothing.”

“What are you doing with my pillow?”

Malfoy looks around wildly, as if searching for an answer, and Harry can tell he’s not going to get the truth that easily. What is Malfoy up to?

“Don’t lie to me,” Harry says before Malfoy has a chance to make up something ridiculous and entirely untrue.

Suddenly Harry realises it probably doesn’t make sense that his bed still smells like Malfoy after more than a week has passed since he slept in it. Has Malfoy been hexing Harry’s pillow to smell like himself? No, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe that’s just a side effect of a more malicious hex being cast. Yes, that sounds more like Malfoy.

Harry pulls out his wand and approaches Malfoy slowly. “Have you been hexing my pillow?”

“What?” Malfoy replies immediately, his shock clear on his face. Okay, maybe Harry had been a bit off base then. “Of course not, Potter. I’m not a child.” He adds snottily, seeming to regain some of the Malfoy attitude, Harry has come to expect this…well in previous years. He can’t actually recall talking to Malfoy at all this year if he’s honest.

“Then what were you doing with my pillow?” Harry asks, his wand still raised, albeit his grip a bit lighter.

Malfoy shuffles backwards slightly. His eyes dart to Harry’s bed and then to his own before meeting Harry’s gaze again. His posture straightens and his lips curl into a smirk. “I was only checking to see if the pillows on your bed were softer than mine, is all. You may have noticed the blatant favouritism towards Gryffindor students at Hogwarts. I’m merely ensuring everyone is treated equally.”

“And are they?” Harry asks to Malfoy’s already retreating back.

“Are they what?” says Malfoy as he slides into his own bed.

“Softer.”

“Oh.” Harry watches Malfoy’s profile carefully as the latter digests this. Harry already knows he’s lying before the answer comes: “Yes.”

Harry isn’t certain he’s going to get any more out of Malfoy so he drops it. He inspects his pillow thoroughly, not finding anything untoward, before settling into his own bed. As soon as he rests his head, he knows that something is not quite right. He rolls over into the pillow. Grapefruit. Ink. Ginger. Malfoy’s scent has faded. He shouldn’t be disappointed but he is.

It’s not long before he hears the first rustle.

Spearmint. Honey. Soap. It’s there but it’s not enough. If only Potter had entered a minute later. Draco would have been able to swap Potter’s pillow cover for his, like he’s been doing every night before bed this week. He knows it’s strange, oh he knows. But he’s been rewarded with real sleep every night, just from the comfort Potter’s scent provides. He’s not going to complain about that, however strange. He’s just going to accept it and use it to his advantage as much as possible. Or at least he was, until Potter walked in and ruined his plans.

Tonight looks like a revert back to the restless nights of old. It’s worse now, knowing what a good night’s sleep actually feels like. He had forgotten that feeling but now it’s fresh once more. He turns. He sighs. He turns again. He signs again. He buries his head in the pillow, inhaling deeply, searching for that scent. Grapefruit. Yes. Honey. Yes. Soap. Damn. There’s too much of his own scent muffling it. He’ll never fall asleep like this. He flops onto his back. He sighs.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy. Shut up.”

“I. Can’t. Sleep.” Replies Draco through gritted teeth. Does Potter thinks he wants to be laying here wide awake? It’s not as if he has a choice in the matter.

“You were fine last night. Just close your eyes and stop moving.” Returns Potter’s voice. Oh, like it’s that simple. Like Draco hasn’t already tried closing his fucking eyes. Draco sighs angrily. Potter will never understand.

“And stop sighing!” Potter adds.

That does it. Draco is out of bed and standing over Potter in seconds. “You’re a wizard. Just cast a fucking silencing charm if it bothers you so much.“

Potter has the gall to look surprised, like this has really never occurred to him. What an idiot. “I never thought of that,” he says more to himself than Draco. His hand fumbles around on his bedside table and Draco worries he’s about to be confronted with the great Harry Potter’s wand, but he’s just grabbing his glasses.

Once Potter has his glasses properly on and adjusted – Draco wants him to clearly see how Draco is looking down at him – Draco continues. “I’m sure there are several things you haven’t thought about.”

Potter rolls his eyes. Draco blanches at the nerve of it. “Like what, Malfoy.”

“Like what it must be like for me! Do you think I’m staying up all night on purpose? Do you think I’m sighing for your benefit? Do you think I like lying wide awake even when I’m so tired I can hardly stand it? If the only thing that helps me sleep is the motherfucking scent of ginger, then I think the least you can do is spare a single fucking pillow cover for the night.”

“Ginger?” Potter echoes, his face revealing his confusion, which Draco supposes is fair. He probably doesn’t know his own scent. “A pillow cover?” Ah yes, and Potter hadn’t know about that bit. Shit. “What the hell, Malfoy?” Potter lifts himself out of bed and stands to face Draco now. He looks mad. Shit shit shit. “Have you been stealing my pillow covers?” The anger in Potter’s voice is only diluted by his confusion. He really has no idea.

“I’ve been swapping them, you idiot.” Draco explains because what else can he do? He has basically outed himself as a Harry Potter pillow cover sniffer. Merlin. He’s going to need a support group for this.

Poor Potter doesn’t know what to do with this information. He blinks back at Draco. “Why?”

Draco sighs (and enjoys the way Potter grimaces at this). “That night last week when I fell asleep in your bed…it was the first time I’ve actually properly slept in years.”

“And you think it was because of my pillow cover?”

Is Potter really this dim? “It’s not the pillow cover, it’s you, you fool.”

“Me?”

Draco pauses, wondering how he should phrase this. “It smells like you.” Yeah, nice one. That sounded way less sappy in Draco’s head.

“Oh.” Draco watches as Potter digests this. He seems to understand much quicker than Draco had expected. He relaxes, which seems an odd thing to do when someone has confessed to sniffing their pillow covers, but then again Potter probably thought Draco was up to something much more sinister than just sniffing.  “Why didn’t you just swap our pillows?” Potter asks.

“My pillow is a custom peacock feather.” As if he’s going to let Potter’s big head defile that.

“Of course it is.” Potter turns back to his bed, and Draco wonders if he has been rudely dismissed. But instead Potter turns around a moment later. “Here.” He says, holding out his arm.

Draco looks down to the pillow cover hanging limply from Potter’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“You know what.” Potter says, and then with a small smirk: “As you said, it’s the least I can do.”

Draco’s lips twitch. He wants to jump and shout. He’s so relieved he’s going to be able to sleep. Instead he draws himself up in a dignified fashion. “Yes, it is actually.”  

He retrieves his own pillow cover and trades with Potter, the swap seeming more criminal now that Potter is participating willingly. Which doesn’t make sense in the slightest. He avoids all eye contact during the trade and scrambles into his bed as fast as he can.

Draco’s head sinks down onto his freshly covered pillow.  Grapefruit. Yes. Honey. Yes! Ginger. YES! “Thank you,” Draco whispers.

Harry is obliged to help out a fellow student, even if it is Malfoy. It’s in his nature. So unfortunately, in return he’ll have to put up with Malfoy’s scent in his bed a little while longer. That’s okay. He doesn’t mind. Spearmint. Ink. Soap. He doesn’t mind at all.

Draco and Potter have an arrangement. Each night before bed, without speaking, they trade pillow covers, redress their pillows and get into their respective beds. They both sleep well for a time. Until one night, almost a month later, it’s not enough anymore.

Draco wakes up with a scream. Automatically he brings his hand to his mouth hoping to muffle the sound, but it’s too late.

“Malfoy?” Comes Potter’s voice through the darkness, groggy but alarmed.

Draco wipes his forehead. When did he get so sweaty? “It’s fine, Potter. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong?” Potter asks instantly. Well Draco could hardly expect him to give up so easily. Potter’s always a curious bastard.

He considers telling Potter about his dream, but then he’ll have to explain much more than he’s ready to, seeing as the scariest part of the dream is that most of it actually happened. But that was another time. Another Draco, under Voldemort’s control. So: “Nothing.”

There is no reply to this. Draco knows he hasn’t fooled Potter. Of course he hasn’t. But the silence stretches. He rolls over and tries to fall back into sleep, inhaling his pillow gently. He can already tell it’s not going to work. He rolls back the other way. He wants to sigh but he doesn’t want Potter to know he’s still awake.

Although he clearly isn’t fooling anyone because a second later Potter whispers his name. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Draco whispers back, his voice louder than he intends.

“You’re not sleeping.”

“Yes, I picked up on that, thank you.” Draco responds sarcastically. And immediately regrets it. He’s irritated that he’s once again unable to sleep but it’s not Potter’s fault. Saint Potter has done nothing but help him. He really should be nicer to him.

“I thought we fixed that.”

Draco sighs openly. “Me too.”

“Did you want to swap a-“

“No. It’s fine.” I can still smell you.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Potter asks. Draco isn’t surprised. Potter isn’t as stupid as he looks. And he doesn’t look very stupid, now that Draco thinks about it. Merlin, Potter looks anything but stupid.

Draco’s already resigned himself to the fact that there is no point lying to Harry Potter. He’s awfully perceptive nowadays. He makes Potter wait a pause for his answer nonetheless. Then, “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco’s instincts are to scoff at the question. It makes Potter sound like a bad therapist. Then again, he appreciates the concern. It’s not like there’s anyone else at Hogwarts eager to be his friend or help him. “No.” He answers truthfully, although he suspects his answer will change in time.

There is a pause filled with the sounds of Potter shuffling in bed. Sounds like he’s really squirming in there. Draco is just about to ask if there’s something wrong when Potter speaks again. “Did you want to…” He starts, trailing off.

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” Potter says, “I was just thinking, I mean, it would make sense…” And then he trails off again. Merlin this is frustrating.

“Yes?” Draco prompts (for a second time). Spit it out is what he wants to shout.

“You could try sleeping in my bed?” Potter finally whispers.

“What?” Surely Draco is hearing this incorrectly. Potter wants to sleep with him? In the same bed? No, it can’t be.

“It’s just that it’s the place where you first slept soundly,” Potter continues, his voice wavering, “so it might be better than just a pillow cover.”

Better than a pillow cover. That’s one way to describe it. Draco considers the offer seriously. He supposes he would feel much safer with Harry Potter beside him. It’d almost be like a fuck you to the Voldemort of his dreams. “Do you think there’s enough space for both of us?”

A silence follows this. Draco can’t understand why Potter isn’t answering. It was a simple enough question so why is – oh fuck. Fuck. No. Realization dawns much too late. “You meant we swap beds, didn’t you?” Draco asks quietly.

“Yes.” Potter confirms and Draco wants to disappear. But then Potter continues and Draco finds something to cling onto: “But I guess there is plenty of space, and it might be better…as in…my…the scent that you like would be stronger.”

“Yes, it does sound…logical.” Draco is sure they both know it doesn’t. But if Potter’s happy to pretend, then so is he.

“And that way we both might get to sleep together….I mean sleep. Together. Not sleep together.”

“Yes, there’s no point in us both being awake.” Agrees Draco, knowing that in no way have they rationally concluded that sleeping in the same bed is simply a solution to the problem at hand. They’re grasping and they both know it.

“Exactly.”

“Good.”

Now that it’s decided, Draco hesitates to leave his bed. It’s one thing to talk about it, it’s another thing entirely to join Harry Potter in bed.

“Er…so are you coming?” Potter whispers across to him. The voice is as uncertain as Draco feels and it’s the exact prompt he needs to get himself moving. He pulls himself up and slowly walks over to Potter’s bed, all the while his anticipation builds.

Potter has already shifted as far to the side as humanly possible, giving Draco a wide berth in which to slide into the bed. He does so, careful to take up as little space as possible, Potter shifts at Draco’s presence and they end up both side by side on their backs, their hips pressed up against each other. Holy fuck, what are they doing?  

They both lay there for a time, blinking up at the ceiling. Draco swears his heartbeat is like a bass pounding throughout the room. Although he’s certainly thrilled to be in the same bed as Harry Potter, the position isn’t exactly comfortable. Potter’s hip digging into his was exhilarating at first, but now rather awkward. And he certainly isn’t going to fall asleep like this.

Potter’s voice breaks the silence. “Is this…working for you?”

“Er…” Draco wonders how to put this. “What about if I…” He starts to roll over to face Potter at the same time Potter rolls to face him. Their foreheads almost meet in the centre of Potter’s pillow (which, although softer than Draco’s, is clearly inferior in quality).

Potter’s breath is warm on Draco’s face. He can feel it on his lips. It tingles. His eyes fall down to Potter’s lips. Harry Potter’s lips. He’s in Harry Potter’s bed. Merlin help him. He breathes in. Grapefruit. Oh. It’s intoxicating.

“Is this bett – “ Potter starts to ask before Draco cuts him off to bring their lips together. And Merlin, Harry Potter tastes exactly as he smells, or maybe better. It’s not a cure for insomnia or nightmares that’s for sure, but it’s something. Something separate. Something distinct. Something Draco suspects is going to be brilliant.

“This is much better.” He whispers as they pull apart, unable to hide a wide smile. And Potter is smiling right back at him. Harry Potter has never smiled back at him. He breathes in. Honey. Yes. This is incredible. He should’ve kissed the bastard years ago.

Draco shuffles downwards slightly and nestles his head on Potter’s chest in a way he certainly didn’t have the courage to do minutes ago. Potter’s arm comes to rest around him, holding him close. He breathes in. Ginger. Ah. Harry Potter is much better than just a pillow cover. He’ll never be able to sleep anyway else again. Harry Potter has ruined him.

Harry pulls Malfoy into him in complete disbelief. Draco Malfoy is in his arms. Annoying, insufferable, sweet smelling Malfoy is in Harry Potter’s arms, in Harry Potter’s bed. Harry knew it was odd that he was so drawn to Malfoy’s scent, but he never expected, well, that’s not to say he never considered it, but he never thought, in reality, it would end up this way. Although he can’t say he’s not pleased it has.

Resting his head on Malfoy’s, Harry breathes in the scent that has pervaded his dreams for the last month. Spearmint. Ink. Soap. He could get used to this. In fact, he already is.

This was how they ended up together and how Malfoy was now Draco, and Ron kept telling him to stop staring at his boyfriend and get on with his breakfast. It was December as well as Hogsmeade weekend, so they were all getting ready to get out of the castle and so they were busy wolfing down their breakfast. After all they had to do their Christmas shopping today. Harry had been putting on his muffler when he looked up and saw Pansy put something on Draco face or head. As soon as she moved away, Harry could not do anything but stare. Draco was wearing earmuffs. Not just any earmuffs but CAT earmuffs. The black ears kept twitching occasionally as if they were actually trying to listen to all the conversation around them. Draco looked unbelievably cute and absolutely irresistible. The jet-black thing was a stark contrast against Draco’s platinum blonde hair. The entire look made Harry want to grab Draco and kiss him right there in the great hall! Not even Mcgonangall’s presence could have stopped him. While he was still staring at Draco, he realized that Draco was looking at him too. His expression was quickly changing from annoyed at Pansy to smug at Harry’s reaction. Which meant only one thing- that he already knew what Harry was thinking. He then started walking out of the great hall and at the last moment turned around and gave Harry a smouldering look, still with his earmuffs on. It was enough to make Harry stand up and run after Draco after making quick half convincing excuses to his friends. He followed Draco to the nearest empty corridor. As soon as Harry turned the corner he was pushed against the wall and was suddenly being kissed by one cat earmuffed Draco Malfoy. It didn’t take long for Harry to come out of his shock and take control. By the time they parted they were both breathless. “Shit Draco! How could you?” Harry panted. “What did I do?!” Draco asked, surprised. “How could you look so cute and sexy at the same time? It is not fucking legal!! You gave me a hard on right there in the great hall!” Harry nearly whined, still clearly turned on. “Oh I see. So Potter, I think you should visit the owlery later today, you know, to order in your Christmas shopping and stuff…” said Draco and smirked. Harry was confused; nobody said he was very fast when he was turned on, “Why would I do that? It’s Hogsmeade weekend and I just promised Ron and Hermione that I’ll meet them at The Three Broomsticks…” Draco gave a sigh so dramatic and long that Harry feared for his lungs. “You really think you’ll be comfortable enough to talk with your friends and do shopping while having that,” Draco said while pointing towards Harry’s erection. “Oh…” Harry said “I guess Ron, Hermione and shopping can wait for a bit.” With that Harry followed Draco towards the Room of Requirement while all the time staring at that wonder of an earmuff.

Fin.