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F.R.I.E.N.D.S by Lovely_Slytheriness

Format: Short story
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 2,681
Status: WIP

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Mild Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Humor, Romance, AU
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Krum, Draco, Pansy, Ginny, Blaise (M)
Pairings: Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Other Pairing

First Published: 09/24/2009
Last Chapter: 09/27/2009
Last Updated: 09/27/2009


In which, the old grudge has been forgiven and forgotten; and Draco, Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Ginny and Harry are living together in a large London flat. Gay co-workers, severe coffee addictions and drunken Potions Masters are just a few things these friends will have to face - together. Utter commotion, laughter and romance ensue. Post Hogwarts, AU.

Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny (main)

Chapter 1: The One With Draco's Hairbrush
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F.R.I.E.N.D.S - A Harry Potter fan Fic.

Part One: The One With Draco’s Hairbrush

“I may be dying,” Draco Malfoy declared melodramatically as he slumped down into the couch between Ron and Pansy at their local café, almost spilling Ron’s coffee in the process.

“Oi!” Ron yelled, “Watch the coffee!”

Had this been when they were still at Hogwarts, Ron would’ve probably poured his coffee happily over the Slytherin’s head for even daring to approach him, but now, seven years after the war, things were very different. After the events of the war, where both Draco and his mother had covered up for Hermione, Harry and Ron more than once, and they had in their turn saved him at several occasions, they had all found it hard to keep their animosity alive.

During their two years that followed the Final Battle, Harry had played in the same Quidditch league as Draco, and surprised everyone by getting along quite well with the former rival. Even after he quit his Quidditch career to obtain what he truly desired; the Auror profession, had he stayed in touch with Draco and somewhere along the way, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had learned to accept Draco, even to care for him.

“I thought Malfoys were supposed to be graceful,” Pansy teased, exchanging an amused look with Ginny, who was regarding the proceedings from behind the counter.

The former Slytherin worked, along with Blaise Zabini, as Madam Malkins assistant. The old robe shop had with the duo gotten a whole new flair to it, and was modernised and updated with other brands and designs.

Pansy had, much like Draco, redeemed herself during the war and had grown close to them, especially Ginny, during the past years. The Pureblood mania that both she and Draco had so persistently displayed during the years had faded a long time ago, and it was never mentioned between the friends. It was as though those school days had been a wound that they had now tenderly healed together; leaving a scar so faint that you could hardly tell it was there at all.

“I may be a Malfoy,” Draco huffed, “but I am also human. I can’t be graceful without my morning coffee. Please, Ginny?” he begged, looking longingly at the coffee machine behind her.

“What’s wrong with the coffee at our flat?” she asked, wiping away muffin-icing from her fingers on her apron.

Draco sulked. “Nothing, except for the minor detail that it doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that Draco,” Pansy said lightly as she rummaged through her bag, looking for her lip gloss. “I forgot to get coffee when I went to get groceries yesterday.”

Draco looked at her through narrowed eyes. “So it was you, Pansy. I can’t believe it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she put down a large cup of coffee before him. “Drink,” she ordered, “I can’t stand you when you’re this whiny.”

“I’m not whiny!” Draco whined, as he eyed the cup suspiciously. “Is it none-fat milk?”

“Draco, we’ve been living together for five years,” Ron smirked, “I don’t think any of us would dare to mess up your coffee.”

“None-fat milk, Brazilian beans and freshly made,” Ginny confirmed absentmindedly as she cast a glance towards the door. “Where are Hermione and Harry by the way? I thought Harry had a meeting with the entire Aurors Department this morning.”

“Draco!” snapped an irritated very familiar voice from the entrance, “If I miss my deadline today, I’m blaming it entirely on you and that beauty salon of yours!”

Hermione worked as a fulltime journalist for The Daily Prophet, and was always cranky whenever a significant deadline was coming up. The former Gryffindor approached the couch hurriedly with Harry, who was grinning apologetically at the others, at her heel. Hermione’s hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and her proper working robes didn’t display a single wrinkle or flaw, but her eyes were fixed upon Draco with a blazing aggravation.

Draco’s eyes were wide with a feigned innocence, one they all knew too well not to recognise. “What have I done?”

“The question is not what you have done, more what you haven’t done,” Hermione muttered crossly as she snatched the coffee cup from him, taking a large sip. Ignoring Draco’s cry of indignation, she continued. “The entire bathroom was completely crammed by all your products again, I had to spend ten minutes just put all your hair brushes and combs and shampoo bottles back in place before I could even open my cabinet!”

“Mousse, actually,” Draco corrected. “I didn’t use shampoo today. I can’t wash my hair every day you know, my hair is far too delicate, I think it’s something that runs in the family -“

“Draco,” she said, warningly.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, stealing his cup back. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m having a bad morning. We were out of coffee-“(he shot Pansy a disapprovingly glare which she met with an innocent smile) “and I didn’t have time to tidy everything up. I needed to get here before I left for practise; you know how I get when I haven’t had my morning coffee,” he moaned, looking around at the rest of them with the air of a hurt puppy.

“I’m impressed that you still managed to go through your morning beauty routine, you know, considering the fact that you’re dying and all,” Ginny remarked with a side looped grin.

Draco scowled. “It’s not a ‘beauty routine’, it’s called grooming,” he explained loftily.

Ron and Harry chuckled, and Pansy hid an amused smile behind her scone.

“It’s not just today,” Hermione sighed. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to live without your brushes and hair products for a month, or even a week.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“One you’d lose.”

“Oh, please! Go on, set the terms.”

Hermione smiled now, a wicked sort of glint in her eyes. “I’ll hide your brushes, combs and hair products for one week, starting tomorrow. You can’t buy any new stuff, or borrow anyone else’s. You’re not allowed to even touch hair products – and you can’t use magic to fix your hair.”

“This is a bad, bad idea,” Ron said slowly, looking at Draco as if hoping he’d refuse.

But Draco’s face had a determined set to it, however slightly apprehensive at the edges. “Can I use shampoo?”

“Yes,” Hermione allowed after a moment of hesitation. “One week without washing your hair is a rather disturbing thought.”

“All right then,” Draco agreed, reaching out his hand to Hermione. “It’s a deal.”

“What does the winner even get?” Harry asked in bemusement, as they watched Hermione shake Draco’s hand with a triumphant grin.

“Honour,” Draco replied gleefully, as he leant back into the couch.

“Draco,” Ginny said questionably, “I thought your practise started, er, ten minutes ago?”

The smirk Draco was wearing froze and faded into a stressed scowl as he checked his watch. “Damn it,” he groaned, downing the remains of his coffee, and got to his feet.

During the three months he had been appointed the Seeker of England’s national Quidditch team, he had managed to be late for practise at least a dozen of times, and Dave Porter, the captain, was not impressed in the slightest by this.

“You’re so lucky you’re a skilled flyer,” Harry said, shaking his head. “How many times have you been late now? Ten? Fifteen?”

“Porter stopped counting at twenty,” Draco sulked as he threw his bag over his shoulder. “Ginny!” he exclaimed, startling the red head as who was in the process of clearing the table, “Can I have some coffee to go, pretty please?” he begged, winking at her.

She looked between him and the emptied cup incredulously. “But you-“ she began, but he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I need more! Someone,” he grimaced at Hermione, “stole mine.”

“One sip,” Hermione objected, rolling her eyes as Ginny gave Draco his precious coffee, this time in a takeaway mug. He blew her a kiss, and with that he was off.

Harry sank down in the now free spot between Ron and Pansy. “I don’t want to go to this ridiculous meeting,” he complained. “Being an Auror is excellent as long as I’m on the field, but this paperwork business makes McGonnagall’s essays seem like a pleasant pastime.”

Ron shook his head ruefully. “I know what you’re talking about mate. George makes me take care of all the administrative stuff at the shop. Says I’m not qualified for developing products. Can you believe that?”

Ron had, since Fred’s tragic death during the final battle, joined his brother in the successful business that was the joke shop Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The store represented, now seven years after the war, one of the most prominent brands among the younger crowd of the Wizarding World, and the good money that was being made had opened a whole new world of possibilities for the entire Weasley family.

“Some of us actually do our jobs, instead of just complaining about them,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she started to gather her possessions.

“Hey,” Pansy began, “I’m not complaining!”

“You’re not doing any work either though,” Hermione smirked.

Pansy stretched out like a cat, a small smirk playing in the corners of her mouth. “Blaise’s opening the shop today,” she explained, “and Madam Malkins doesn’t come in today until after noon.”

“Am I the only one actually working today?” Ginny pouted, her arms crossed over her white apron.

She worked at a waitress at their local café, and always provided her friends generous discounts - much to their delight and her boss’ displeasure.

“Nope,” Hermione replied with a sigh as she rose to her feet. “I need to go; I have an article to hand in.”

“Why don’t you just send it by owl?” asked Ron, putting his feet on the table, receiving a lightly smack on the arm by Pansy.

“I don’t want to risk it. The Prophet’s owls are the most incompetent birds in the whole of Britain,” Hermione said with a small laugh, “they get lost, they poop on the scrolls... Believe me, not a good idea.”

Ron chuckled. He and Hermione had a good relationship these days, like they always had had, but the puppy romance that had once blossomed between them had faded a long time ago, and they were now back in the same brotherly and sisterly relationship they had developed as wee first years. He doubted that he could ever see her in any other light again, and he was certain she felt the same thing for him.

“You can borrow mine,” he offered, but she shook her head and rose to her feet.

“Thanks Ron, but I have to go in today anyway.”

Harry left shortly after Hermione did, but not after he’d complained some more about the paperwork (“I’d rather sit through a month of Potions with Snape from nine to five than write another report,”) and Ron and Pansy were left alone with Ginny again.

Pansy peered at him mischievously at Ron as his sister went back to the counter. “Are you up for another Muffin Eating Contest?”

“You’ll never beat me, Parkinson,” Ron sniggered. “Why don’t you just acknowledge that you have met your superior?”

“I will not acknowledge anything,” Pansy said haughtily like the Slytherin she was. “I believe I beat you the last time.”

“You threw up the last time,” Ron corrected. “Last time I checked, that’s against the rules.”

“What rules? We made this game up! We never wrote down any official rules.”

“Unofficial rules, then.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll be beaten by a girl.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re paying for the first round.”

* * *

“Look at you all dolled up,” Hermione smiled, interrupting another one of Draco and Harry’s passionate Quidditch discussions as Ginny joined them in the spacious living room of their flat.

Harry’s gaze lingered a few moments longer than anyone else's upon Ginny as she sat down in one of the armchairs, pushing her red mane of hair out of her face with slim, pale fingers and looked down to inspect her appearance.

“Do you really like it?” she asked rather anxiously; then smiled as she looked at Draco, whose hair was standing on all ends – he’d taken his bet with Hermione seriously, and hadn’t touched his hair for over four days.

“You look gorgeous,” Pansy confirmed in a muffled yell from the kitchen, where she’d spent nearly two hours preparing a Friday night dinner for all of them, except for Ginny, who had a date.

“I think you always look great, Ginny,” Harry said softly, a faint blush creeping across his features, oblivious to how Ron, Hermione and Draco exchanged knowing looks.

Harry and Ginny had dated back in their sixth year, but they had never really found their way back to each other. This was mostly Harry’s fault, they had all agreed on, as he never fully had given him and Ginny a chance again after the war was over. It was however painfully obvious to everyone but Harry and Ginny that Harry still had strong feelings for her, but he never acted on them.

Ginny was a free spirit and dated many guys, loved to gossip about them with Hermione and Pansy, and always failed to notice the way Harry’s expression darkened considerably whenever her current date was the topic of discussion. Even now, several years later, Harry had almost never been on a single date.

“Thanks,” Ginny smiled neutrally, smoothing out the fabric of her black dress.

“Who’s the guy you’re seeing tonight?” inquired Ron, who still, even at the age of twenty-five, was very protective of his little sister.

“Josh Hackett.”

“Is he the tall, blond guy at the Ministry?” Pansy asked through the fumes of the kitchen, “the hot one?”

“Josh Hackett, the one who works in the Department of International cooperation?” Harry said jealously.

“Yes, and yes,” Ginny replied smugly, getting up from the armchair and wriggled her way into the well tailored robes.

“Don’t get too drunk!” Draco said cheerfully, waving at her and snickered at Ron’s curt look.

“Don’t get drunk at all,” Ron instructed, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Don’t wait up,” she said with a grin, and with that, she picked up her smart clutch and hurried out the door.

“I don’t like Hackett,” Harry stated as soon as the door closed behind Ginny. “He’s full of himself. I’ve always found him obnoxious. Bloody wanker.”

Hermione goggled. “Didn’t you have lunch with him last week?”

“That was then,” Harry blushed. “Things change.”

“So you’re saying that the whole ‘I’ve always found him obnoxious’ part was a bit of an overstatement?” Draco asked, looking at Hermione and Ron with an amused look in his slate grey eyes.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I really can’t take you seriously with your hair like that, Draco,” he said, grinning maliciously as he looked at Draco’s blond hair which was huge, wild and fluffy from Quidditch practise.

“All right, that’s it!” shouted Draco and turned to Hermione. “Even Harry ‘The Unruly Mop’ Potter thinks I look ridiculous!”

"My hair is not that bad," protested Harry, picking up a scissor from the table and tried to inspect his reflection.

"Your hair is exactly that bad," Draco informed. "Now, where are my brushes Hermione!?"

Draco spent almost the entire night in the bathroom, washing, drying, grooming and combing his hair before he finally joined the others in the living room, smirking with satisfaction.

“Whatever happened to the ‘honour’, Draco?” Harry asked smugly.

“Hats off for Hermione,” said Draco with a mock bow, “quite a competitor.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The characters belong to JK Rowling, and the title and concept belongs to the creators of the famous TV sitcom, "Friends".

AN: This story will be in ten parts, and I hope you all enjoyed it so far. Please review, your comments mean the world to me! ~ Lovely_Slytheriness