Bloody Potter! He thought to himself. Bloody, cursing, Salazar-smiting Harry-bleeding-Potter! He chanted it to himself as he plucked each potion bottle down from his stores so that he could put them back into alphabetical order. Bloody Potter and his aching joints! Poor Potter and his skinned knees. Sacred Potter and his broken bones. He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to imagine the stores as he’d left them, tried to imagine his wonderfully ordered and organised life before wonderful Potter turned his life upside down.
As soon as he’d walked in the room, he’d realised that someone had been in there, his chair behind the desk had been moved. It was still neat, but it wasn’t where he had left it, then the cabinet door to his store cupboard had been left open the tiniest crack. He grumbled again as he pointedly removed each bottle carefully and placed it on the desk behind him.
Stupid hair, stupid glasses, Stupid beard! He muttered again under his breath. He knew in the back of his mind; he could shout his opinions from the rooftop if he so wished as Potter wasn’t around but he contented himself with just saying it for his own benefit. The irritating Gryffindor had left for Quidditch practice at stupid-o’clock, clomping around the bedroom, knocking things over and sniffing constantly.
Draco paused again as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again, this time to imagine the arse getting knocked off his broom. Then he thought better of it, that would just mean him raiding his cupboard again. It really was his worst habit. Harry was usually pretty good, around the house he was neat, even if he did insist on doing most things the muggle way. When asked, he just replied saying that he didn’t feel like the things were properly clean unless he cleaned them himself.
He opened his eyes again and reached for the first of the potions. Sliding them carefully onto the rack, in order this time. Probably putting them back firmer than was needed, he asked the question out loud.
“How, in the name of Salazar Slytherin did he manage to mess up everything in the search of a pepper up potion? It’s in alphabetical bloody order!” He shook his head in disbelief. Stupid bloody Potter. If he pulled a stunt like this again, he wouldn’t be the boy who lived for much longer! He ground his teeth in annoyance. Just because he had the flu didn’t mean that his bad habits could escalate. “Inconsiderate, selfish, ignorant” he chanted to himself as he placed back the final bottle. He nodded in determination as he checked his filing system before shutting the door behind him. He had half a mind to lock it but knew that Harry could be quite ingenious and creative when it came to locks and such.
He needed a cup of tea. He had not had nearly enough sleep to be able to handle today. He deserved it for the sheer inconvenience of it all. He stood in the doorway and gave the room a final once over. Everything seemed to be in order so he turned, determined to reach the kitchen with no more distractions.
Cup of tea in hand, he entered the living room, teeth still grinding at Harry’s inconsideration. He was about to list insults again when he noticed a figure on the sofa. He halted, heart, beating hard and a weird sort of roll of his stomach. It happened every time he saw that mop of unruly black hair. Like stepping off the stairs to realise there’s no floor, just another step.
Harry lay sprawled out on the sofa, his quidditch training gear still adorned. The black and white of his uniform making him look even paler and drawn. All annoyance washed away at the sight of him. His strong jaw and chiselled cheekbones still visible behind the dark beard. His skin looked slightly waxy and pale, a slight sheen of sweat beading on his brow. He must’ve felt dreadful if he’d returned from Quidditch early. It was unlike him not to change out of his training gear too.
Draco bit the inside of his lip as he lowered himself into the spot next to him. He smiled, relieved when Harry didn’t stir at the jostle. Draco felt entranced as he looked down at his husband. Gorgeous was not the right word but striking was. His dark features and messy hair-now stuck to his face. His skin, tanned and smooth, making him look more exotic than his Little Whinging background suggested.
Draco reached out and stroked his head, causing the other man to moan quietly, stirring at the contact. Draco smiled; he could forgive Harry his bad habits. He would forgive the man almost anything in the world. He grabbed his wand and accio’d the folded blanket from the other side of the room. He pulled it over them both before he went back to stroking his lovers head, hoping to sooth away the aches and pains.