"Sara!" Harry bellowed as she unpacked a few things in the upstairs bedroom of the house. "SARA!"
"What?!" She yelled down, exasperated, "I could use a hand with some of this stuff, you know!"
"The TV doesn't work!"
"Why are you watching TV? We're unpacking, in case you forgot! Or should I say I'm unpacking anyway."
"I can't believe this! It's brand new!"
Hermione cleared her throat in the doorway, her arms laden with boxes. "Dumbledore put wards on the house last night, in case you forgot."
"So your muggle electronics aren't going to work. Too much magic in the air."
Ron appeared beside her, his arms full as well. "Terrible luck, mate. You'll have to return it."
Harry ignored this and went to the bottom of the little tower that housed their bedroom and yelled up the stairs. "Dumbledore made your stereo work! What spell did he use? We can do it to the TV."
"He didn't actually make it work. At least not the way muggles intended it to work and I can't get a radio signal on it at all. Your TV is much more complicated. It wouldn't help."
"But they're showing a Monty Python marathon!"
"Well you're going to have to miss it! Now would you please come up here and lend a hand?"
Hermione stepped forward and dumped her burden into Harry's arms. "On second thought," she gave him a disapproving glare, "I'll help Sara. You help Ron carry all this stuff in."
"Er. ok." He said, struggling to get a better grip on the heavy boxes. "I'll just run these upstairs, then."
* * *
Draco didn't wait for the door to be opened; he just got out of the limo and stepped onto the walk. There was his grimy, almost pretty breakfast date, shivering in the cold morning mist, her face wrought with exhaustion as she huddled in the very doorway where they had met. She smiled the second she saw him and stood.
"Am I late?" he asked, wondering that she was already waiting for him with the sun barely breaking through the clouds, casting a thin liquid light through the fog.
"Of course not." She explained, "It's just that you never said what time and I didn't want to miss you."
"Oh." Draco blinked, it had never occurred to him to give her a time. "Well where is your jumper? It's cold this morning."
"Oh, that." She sniffled, "I traded it when the weather got warm, figured I could pick up another one before the start of winter. I forget how cold London can be in the night." She sniffled again and Draco stepped aside the door, gesturing for her to get inside. "Too bad it couldn't be August forever." She sneezed and he gave her his fine linen handkerchief. She smiled, sniffled, and thanked him before taking it and sliding across the soft leather seat.
"Wow, you have a bar!"
"Yes." Draco replied. There was a substantial bar in his limo, but he had no use for it himself. He rarely drank, mostly when he went to the Phantom or the Underground and then just for show. He would often nurse the same drink all night. Then there was an occasional glass of wine with dinner, but really he'd rather have butterbeer, and once in a while a tequila daiquiri as he floated in the pool with the warm summer sun melting his drink. In fact, the last time he'd really tied one on was when he'd shared his father's Scotch on Potter's 18th birthday. Now Potter was about to turn 20.