Friday, 11:53am

La Vie En Rose

Draco Malfoy fidgeted nervously as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror at La Vie En Rose, the poshest French restaurant in all of Wizarding London.

Harry Potter was arriving at this restaurant in approximately seven minutes.

Only a few minutes until he's here, Draco thought to himself. Let's just go over things one more time:

Robes, tailored to fit perfectly and of highest quality?

….check.

Sexy, irresistible shag-me expression?

…double check.

The most enviable hair this side of the pond?

…..bitch, please. As if you have to ask.

''''''

Back at his table, Draco kept his eyes on the front door, drumming his fingers nervously. A smartly dressed waiter appeared at his table.

"Bonjour, Mizter Malfoy. My name iz Pierre. Will ze Monsieur be tastezing our house wine zis afternoon?"

Draco lifted his gaze to the blonde man's face and fought the urge to laugh. The only thing faker than his waiter's accent was his hair.

"No, thank you," he said politely. "I actually have a little proposition for you…Pierre." Draco was quite sure the man's real name was more along the lines of Ernest or Billy, or possibly Stan.

"A propozition, Monsieur?" The waiter looked intrigued. "And wot iz zis…propozition?"

Draco successfully managed not to wince, smiling at the waiter instead. "I heard a rumour that Harry Potter will be dining here for lunch."

The waiter gasped. "HARRY POTTER? ZE Harry Potter?"

"The one and only," Draco said smoothly. He pointed to a nearby empty table. "If you take Mr Potter to that table, I'll see to it that ten extra galleons find their way into your tip."

"It iz done," the waiter said immediately, bustling off.

Draco smiled in satisfaction. Brilliant thing, bribery. His dad would be so proud.

However, with the waiter now gone and Harry's arrival imminent, Draco's nerves were spiraling out of control. His heartbeat sped up, and a thin sheen of sweat formed on his palms. He wished fervently that he'd ordered a drink, just to give himself something to do.

Finally, he heard his waiter's outrageous accent gushing behind him again, along with some familiar embarrassed muttering.

"Right zis way, Mizter Potter. It iz such an honour to haf you here! Ze finest foods and wines will be sent to your table at no cost to you."

"Really, that's alright, you needn't -"

"But it iz a pleasure to serve such a hero, Monsieur! Ze one who is destroying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself!"

Draco listened to their conversation, stomach alight with butterflies. Any moment now…any moment now…

"You're very kind, but I'm really not - wait…Malfoy? Oy, Malfoy, is that you?"

Affixing the most angelic, startled expression he had to his face, Draco slowly turned. "Potter!" he exclaimed, striving to sound completely surprised.

Oh shit, he's wearing the black jumper, he thought, as his eyes glazed over. I LOVE that black jumper. He swallowed with great difficulty before continuing to speak. "Fancy meeting you here! I had no idea that you were coming to this restaurant today!"

Was that laying it on a bit too thick? Possibly, but Draco rather felt it necessary to come across as innocent - seeing as he was anything but. Potter's secretary was a nice bloke, but Ministry salaries really weren't what they should have been and it didn't take much to get regular reports on Potter's business affairs.

As Draco had hoped, Potter turned to the waiter and asked, "Can I sit with him instead?"

The waiter looked questioningly at Draco, who nodded vigorously behind Harry's back.

"But of course, Monsieur," said the waiter, graciously guiding Harry to Draco's table. "Harry Potter can zit anywhere he likes."

The waiter placed two menus on the table and left. Potter dropped into the seat across from Draco, giving him a boyish grin that made Draco's heart flutter.

"I am so glad you're here, Malfoy," he said sincerely. "I'm about to have lunch with some high ranking foreign Minister and I just know I'm going to humiliate myself. I'm absolutely pants at figuring out these fancy restaurants."

Draco's eyes went soft as he observed how Potter's hair shone with gel, no doubt the result of Harry attempting to style his unmanageable locks for the meeting. He really must have been nervous.

I'll get Potter some better hair products, Draco decided. Not that the hair he's got isn't perfect already. Aloud he said, "Don't you worry about a thing. By sheer coincidence I'm here, so I can smooth everything over for you."

Potter nearly wilted in obvious relief. "Really?" he said, those gorgeous green eyes going all big with hope.

"Absolutely," Draco assured him, warmth ballooning in his chest when Potter looked at him gratefully.

"You're my hero, Malfoy, really. I could just kiss you," Potter said thankfully, picking up his menu. With good timing, too, seeing as Draco's cheeks had just turned very pink.

"Yes, well, you don't have to kiss me, I'm sure," Draco blurted out, though he very much would have liked a kiss from Potter. "Just follow my advice. When Rousseau comes, make sure all you do is nod and smile. The man could outtalk a Jarvey on his quieter days."

Potter nodded sagely. "Right. And you're going to tell me now what food to order so I don't look a fool, right?"

"Of course." Draco was puffed up with pride at how the lunch was turning out. He was Potter's hero. Things couldn't be going any better, really, it was just -

"Oh, hey, how'd you know my lunch was with Louvel Rousseau?"

Fuck!

Draco flushed. "Um…because you told me," he lied, flailing. Quickly he grabbed and menu and brought it to his face.

"I did?" Potter said, sounding adorably confused.

"Uh-huh," Draco said, nose pressed nearly up against the menu in his attempt to hide his suspiciously pink cheeks.

"Oh. Well, okay, if you say so."

And that was the end of it; Potter seemed more than ready to take Draco's word. Draco absolutely melted in relief. He did not need Potter figuring out that he had a crush bordering on an obsession with him, not when he'd worked so hard at subtly wooing the other man.

There had been a time in Draco's life when he'd devoted all his energies into making Harry Potter's life miserable. He'd been a brat of the worst kind, a complete nuisance, a spoilt bully intent on forcing his way onto Potter's "most-hated" list.

It had taken Draco three years to realize that what he actually wanted was Potter's attention. It took another two for him to figure out why he wanted that attention (he had Blaise's Wanton Wizards magazine collection to thank for finally figuring that out).

Draco spent two more years in denial, trying in vain to pretend that he hadn't noticed how tall and fanciable Potter had become, and that the only reason he hated Ginny Weasley was because of her family.

Then Potter killed the Dark Lord - and very nearly died.

'''''

Friday, 2:32pm.

The sidewalks of Calla Street

"You're a lifesaver, Malfoy, really."

Draco felt light as a feather as he walked alongside Potter down the sidewalk just a block from La Vie En Rose. "It was nothing," he said modestly, adjusting his umbrella to keep the cold mix of failing rain and sleet off his hair.

"No, it was everything," Potter said earnestly, pulling his red knitted hat a little farther over his ears. "I would have made a fool of myself, you know I would have. I was lucky to have you there."

An icy winter wind was blowing, but Potter's words kept Draco warmer than his Weatherproofed cloak. "I told you I make a better friend than an enemy," he said playfully.

Potter laughed. "You really do." He suddenly stopped, grabbing Draco's wrist and spinning the blonde around to face him.

"Let me take you out for dessert," Harry said persuasively. "To thank you."

Draco froze, speechless. Potter wanted to take him out? For dessert?

"There's a little café just a few more blocks from here," Harry continued hopefully. "They've got the best treacle tart you've ever tasted."

Draco shook himself a bit, trying to regain his composure. It was difficult, seeing as Harry was still holding his wrist. His skin was on fire from the touch, even beneath three layers of clothing. "Treacle tart, eh? Nothing a bit more…refined?"

Harry laughed again. "Of course, you snob. They've got all sorts of tarts and éclairs and pastries as well. Coffee and tea, too. And I'm buying, so you have to say yes."

"You're just trying to fatten me up," Draco said, his derisive tone utterly ruined by the smile he couldn't stop.

"You could certainly use it, you tichy midget."

"HEY!"

''''''

Friday, 2:54pm.

Fairy Lights Café

"I'll have the treacle tart and tea please," Harry said to the giddy, star-struck waitress. "And my friend will have the chocolate torte and a coffee."

As the little waitress scampered off to place the order for "the Great Harry Potter," Draco was nearly glowing with pleasure. My friend. Potter called me his "friend."

It had taken Draco six months of hard work to earn that title. Six months spent turning energy that once made Potter's life miserable into making Harry's life better. Six months of take-away brought to Potter's junior Auror office on the days he was too busy to eat; six months bribing Potter' secretary for his plans to see what he could do to help; six months learning to brew the Wolf's Bane potion and kissing up to a lion pack of Gryffindors.

It was all worth it and more, however, to sit at this table and have dessert with the one person that made his blood race and his heart sing.

The owner of the café herself brought out their drinks, thanking Harry profusely for visiting her café again. Draco sipped his coffee - which was very, very good - and idly watched Harry brush off his fame, smiling and thanking the owner for making such good dessert.

"My, my, we do get a lot of attention," Draco remarked casually, as soon as the owner had left. "Everyone loves a hero."

"Oh, shut up," Harry said good-naturedly. "You're as much a War Hero as I am."

"Right," Draco scoffed. "Because hiding in my mad Auntie Black's old home while you killed the Dark Lord makes me a hero."

"You are a hero," Harry said firmly. "You switched sides, and convinced your parents to as well. Without your family's help, it would have been much harder to find the Horcruxes."

Draco looked away. "I only switched because for some stupid, unfathomable Gryffindor reason, you came looking for me when no one else did."

"Of course I came looking for you," Harry said, a little more forcefully than was necessary. "You would have been dead if anyone else had found you." He paused to sip his tea. "Not that you were particularly grateful, you wanker."

Harry's words made Draco smile. "No, I don't suppose I was."

But I am now, he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Harry everything - how he'd thought he was doomed to die, how it felt when Potter came back for him, how scared he'd been when he'd thought he might lose Harry forever -

Fortunately for Draco's Slytherin heart, he was spared the humiliation of pouring forth his feelings like some sappy Hufflepuff by the timely arrival of their food.

"Here are your desserts, on the house," squeaked the waitress, popping up out of nowhere.

"Thanks, Miss," Harry said politely, as she set the plates on the table. "But I'll take the check. I'm happy to pay for it."

The waitress seemed to swoon. "Omigod, you're brave and generous," she wailed. "And you're so hot! Can I please have your autograph, oh please?! You can sign any part of my body!"

Harry and Draco watched with wide eyes as the owner suddenly appeared, apologized, and firmly guided the squealing waitress away from their table.

"Wow," Draco finally said. "You must get laid. Like, a lot."

Harry snorted. "Please," he said witheringly. "As if you don't."

Draco was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen the way men act around you," Harry said, almost too casually. "You drive them crazy."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry picked up a fork. "Sure you do," he continued in that same too-relaxed tone. "Men can't seem to resist a pretty blonde like you."

Draco swallowed. "You'd be surprised at how well some men can resist," he muttered pointedly.

Harry paused, his bite halfway up to his mouth. "Are you saying you don't sleep with all those other boys drooling in your direction?"

"Not hardly," Draco replied huffily.

"Oh." Potter perked up noticeably. "Good."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why good?"

To his surprise, Harry turned pink. "No reason," he said cagily, his attention suddenly fixed on his tart.

Draco had the feeling that something significant had just happened, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

They ate their respective desserts in a silence for a few minutes. Draco's chocolate torte was delicious, and it was all the tastier since it was a gift from Potter. He contented himself with stealing furtive glances at Harry.

That black jumper really looked amazing on him, Draco mused. He'd had been daydreaming about it for two months…or more specifically, about it lying crumpled in a pile on the floor of his room…

"…a bite?"

"Sorry, what?" Draco looked up - and then his eyes widened. Harry was holding out his fork, a bit of treacle tart at the end.

"I asked if you wanted a bite," Harry offered again, adding persuasively, "It's really good."

Draco's heart began a loud, almost painful thumping in his chest. Slowly, he parted his lips and let Potter feed him.

The sugary sweetness immediately flooded his senses, in sharp contrast to the bitter chocolate and coffee he'd been eating. Even more overpowering was the sense of Potter's hand, so close to his lips. Draco closed his eyes, savouring the moment.

When he opened them, Potter was staring at him intensely.

Draco swallowed his bite nervously. There was something in Harry's gaze…something almost hungry…he felt short of breath; his body was prickling all over. Harry's eyes were so green, so mesmerizing, and he'd wanted Harry for so long…

"Malfoy," Harry began, and Draco's breath hitched -

"…and I said, not without more Galleons, you cheapskate, and then he - Harry! Oh my God, Harry Potter, is that you?!"

Draco's world was blasted to pieces as a familiar voice cut through their conversation.

"Blaise!" Harry said, standing immediately. "How are you?"

Draco looked on in a shattered sort of horror as Harry completely lost the moment to talk with none other than Blaise Zabini - also known as Draco's ex-boyfriend. Blaise was actually hugging Harry, wrapping his arms around the taller boy in a familiar manner that Draco had not yet been brave enough to try.

"I'm well, and you?" Blaise said, completely ignoring the handsome man he'd brought into the café.

"I'm great," Harry said, and cocked his head in Draco's direction. "Just out with Malfoy."

Just out with Malfoy. Draco went cold. If Harry had put a knife through his heart, it would have been kinder.

"Draco," Blaise said flatly, with none of the warmth he'd used on Harry. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Blaise," Draco replied coolly. "Who's your friend?"

"What?" Blaise said distractedly. He turned and saw the man he'd come into the café with, who was watching Blaise gush over Harry with an annoyed expression. "Oh, that's Jerome Wittaker. You know." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Heir to the Wittaker fortune. That's the only reason I'm out with him - kidding, I'm only playing!" he said immediately, sending a dazzling smile at Jerome.

Jerome promptly stopped looking annoyed and looked rather smitten instead. Draco smiled thinly. From personal experience, he was quite sure Blaise hadn't been kidding.

"Harry, I have missed you like you wouldn't believe," Blaise said earnestly, as he rested a hand on Harry's upper arm. "We absolutely must catch up. What are you doing tonight?"

"I - I don't have plans, actually," Harry replied. He shot a glance at Draco, who pretended to be very interested in his coffee.

"You do now," Blaise said flirtatiously. "We're getting drinks at the Vampy Veela at seven."

Jermone looked quite put out. "But I thought we were -"

"Maybe tomorrow, Jerome, alright?" Blaise said curtly. He turned back to Harry, all smiles. "Seven, then?"

"Alright," Harry agreed. And then, suddenly - "Malfoy, you should come."

Draco felt his body seize up. "I can't," he said stiffly. "I've got a previous commitment."

"Oh, what a shame," Blaise said with an insincere smile. "Next time, maybe?" The insufferable bastard actually reached up and gave Potter a quick kiss on the cheek.

"See you tonight, Harry," he said coyly, and then left, the sulky-looking Jerome tagging along after him.

Harry gave Draco a confused look as he sat back down. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

"I have a date," Draco lied, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry stiffened so abruptly that Draco felt it across the table.

"A date, eh?" That too-casual voice from earlier was back. "With who?"

"One of the many men drooling over me," Draco said coolly, staring at his torte. "We'll probably be shagging by the time you and Blaise get your drinks."

There was the sudden sound of china shattering. Draco looked up to see Potter staring at his broken tea cup.

"Must have squeezed it too hard," he said awkwardly.

Draco could have sworn that the china cup had been nowhere near Potter's hand.

'''''''

Friday, 7:23pm.

Draco's flat.

Draco leaned back against the couch and looked at his watch, figuring that Blaise and Potter had probably just gotten their drinks.

"Well, Mr. Non-Existent Date," he said aloud, into the silence of his living room. "I guess we ought to be shagging right about now."

"Begging your pardon, Master Draco?"

Draco winced. "Nothing, Ketty," he to the House Elf, embarrassed. "Just go back to the Manor."

"But Mistress Malfoy is wanting Ketty to check on Master Draco, and to bring him dinner and sweets."

"I'm fine, alright? Go home and tell Mum I'm not a first year anymore," Draco ordered sulkily.

Ketty bowed, and then disappeared with a crack.

Draco sighed. It was Friday, and every other wizard in London was probably out doing something fun and glamourous. His big night consisted of coddling from his mother and her House Elf.

You could go to the Vampy Veela. Potter did invite you.

Draco snorted. That would mean admitting that he'd lied about having a date.

Just say that your date had to be postponed, and you decided to join them after all.

Draco chewed his lip for a moment.

Or you can just leave Blaise with Harry, if you're not worried. After all, it's not like Blaise is gay… or gorgeous…or a complete shark with a history of snagging rich, good-looking men -

With a muttered curse, Draco ran off to his bedroom to change.

''''''

Friday, 8:13pm.

The Vampy Veela

Draco squinted through the dim, colourful lights of the bar, searching for Harry and Blaise. He nervously smoothed non-existent wrinkles out of his silver robe, which was of a lighter fabric than he normally wore and draped delicately around him. He'd chosen the trendy robe in the hopes that Harry would like it.

Not that Harry ever notices what you wear, his inner voice reminded him. Draco quickly smothered the thought. After all, a boy could dream.

He scanned the crowd, worrying that he might have missed them - until he spotted the two wizards at a tiny booth in the back. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the crowd until he was nearly at their table.

"…so he asked me to be a model," Blaise was saying. "And I was like whoa, modeling is so shallow, but so long as it's a quality publication then I guess -"

"Hi Blaise, hi Potter," Draco interrupted, before Blaise could talk about how hot he was one second longer.

"Draco." Blaise sounded sour. "You made it."

Draco paid no attention to Blaise. How could he, when Harry had lit up like a summer day?

"You came," he said happily. He eyed Draco intently. "Is that a new robe? I don't think I've seen you wear that before."

Draco flushed the tiniest bit and stood a little taller. "It is, actually," he said, fighting to stay cool as his inner voice screamed he noticed he noticed he noticed oh my God he actually NOTICED. "Just got it yesterday."

"It's nice," Harry said earnestly.

A rush of pleasure shot through Draco.

Blaise coughed slightly. "Yes, lovely robe, if a bit…conservative," he said, a catty edge to his voice that Draco didn't miss. "You've never been willing to wear muggle clothes, have you?"

"I'm a wizard. I like robes," Draco retorted.

Blaise smiled coolly. "I'm just saying that robes are terribly old-fashioned. After all, they cover so much of your body." He stretched as he said this, showing off the play of his perfect muscles beneath the glove-like shirt he was wearing. "Then again," he said, so nicely that Draco instinctively knew some horrible insult was coming, "maybe that's why you like them. Not everyone can wear form-fitting clothes and look good."

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"I like wizard robes," Harry interrupted good-naturedly. "They really suit you, Malfoy."

Draco allowed a small, smug smile to cross his face. "Thank you, Potter," he said sweetly.

Now Blaise's eyes were narrowed. "Didn't you say you weren't coming tonight?" he asked Draco pointedly.

"I did say that, but then I decided to reschedule my date, just so I could join you," Draco said brightly.

Blaise snorted but hid it well. Harry beamed.

"That was really nice of you," he said warmly, and then stood. "Let me get you a drink. What do you want?"

Draco's heart fluttered. "Just a butterbeer," he said demurely. "But you don't have to get it; I can get my own drink."

"Yes, he can get his own drink," Blaise agreed immediately.

Draco shot him a withering look, which Potter completely missed.

"It's no trouble," he assured them, squeezing out from behind the booth. "I want to do it. I'm a Gryffindor, remember? I have to be chivalrous."

Blaise and Draco both laughed, and then promptly shot each other dirty looks.

"Be right back," Harry told them, disappearing into the crowd.

Draco slid into the still-warm spot across from Blaise that Harry had just vacated. There was a tense silence.

"So…"

"So…"

The silence became even tenser.

Finally, Blaise smiled in a very fake sort of way. "So how've you been?"

"Well." A beat. "You?"

"Fine."

Even more silence.

"…do you go out with Harry often?"

"Often enough that he recognized my new robe."

"Hmmm." Blaise examined his manicure. "He's almost unbearably hot, isn't he? Those eyes, that body, that delicious take-charge attitude…do you know if he's seeing anyone?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

Blaise gave him a level look. "Why do you think?"

Draco's expression turned to ice. "I knew you'd be after Potter. Tell me; which one sparked your interest - his fame or his Gringott's vault?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Rude."

"I'm going to guess the vault," Draco continued, leveling a cold stare at Blaise. "After all, that's what you wanted from me."

"Oooh, bitchy. Bitterness is so last season."

Draco bristled. "Just leave him alone, Blaise."

Blaise looked calculatingly at Draco. "You're awfully quick to protect the Boy Hero. What do you care if I have a go at him?"

"He's my friend," Draco said, feeling a slight thrill as he said the word.

"Since when?"

"Since the war."

"So you're protecting your friend?" Blaise rolled his eyes. "How terribly Hufflepuff of you."

"Now who's being rude?"

Blaise gave him an aloof look. "I'm not being rude, I'm being logical. Only a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor would protect a friend from their ex-boyfriend, and you, my dear Slytherin, are neither."

Shit. Blaise had always been annoyingly perceptive. "What are you implying?"

"I'm simply pointing out that I don't buy the he's my friend act for one second." Blaise leaned forward slightly. "I think you want him."

Draco's heart skipped. "I don't."

"Then I'm going after him."

"Don't you dare," Draco barked out, before he could stop himself.

A triumphant smile crossed Blaise's face. "I knew it." He gave Draco an appraising look. "I guess it's Slytheirn versus Slytherin for our lovely Gryffindor then."

Draco's eyes widened. "No," he said, slightly desperately. "He'd never go for you."

"You did," Blaise pointed out sweetly.

Draco had no response for that.

"Should be interesting for Harry, at any rate, caught between two of Slytheirn's finest. Unless you'd rather concede defeat now, and avoid getting dragged through the humiliation of losing Harry to me?"

Draco glared. "Of all the -" He promptly snapped his mouth shut as Harry emerged from the crowd, balancing three butterbeers.

"Hi you two," he said, grinning. "I got the drinks."

Blaise immediately scooted over, clearing a space for Harry next to him.

"Here, sit down next to me," he said sweetly, lifting one of the bottles out of Harry's full hands.

"Thanks, Blaise," Harry said gratefully, squeezing into the spare inches next to Blaise.

"Anything for you, Harry," Blaise replied silkily, and then he and Draco locked eyes.

It was so on.

''''''''

Saturday, 10:12am.

Draco's flat.

"Bloody Blaise Zabini."

Draco was sitting at his kitchen table, wearing his fluffiest blue bathrobe and matching slippers. A cup of cold coffee and an untouched plate of eggs and bacon sat on the table. Ketty was wringing his hands nervously.

"Master Draco needs to be eating his breakfast," the Elf needled. "Mistress Malfoy is saying that Master Draco is too thin and -"

"Ketty, GO HOME," Draco snapped. "And tell Mum I'm not thin, I'm slim and I get it from her side of the family so bloody stop nagging already."

Ketty shook his head, but obeyed. Draco barely noticed the crack of his disappearance, too lost in thoughts of the night before.

His all-consuming mission to win Harry Potter's heart had suddenly taken a horrible turn. He was now competing head-to-head with Blaise, and the prospect made him slightly ill.

Money and his father's influence had always paved the way for Draco; he'd never been required to play nicely with other children and so had never learned how. He tended to put people off with his airs and haughty attitude, whereas Blaise could sweet talk a dragon into doing his will. Draco was pale and pointy and much too thin, while Blaise was gorgeous and sexy. Outside of bribery and flattery, Draco was awkward and ill-at-ease around people; Blaise was devastatingly charming when he wanted to be.

I'm doomed, Draco thought miserably. He didn't stand a chance against Blaise. Harry was going to fall madly in love with the other Slytherin, and it would end badly when Blaise broke his heart. Potter was not going to take it well when he realized Blaise only wanted him for his money.

He closed his eyes, and an image of Harry immediately surfaced - his bright eyes, glossy hair and boyish smile. He always managed to make Draco feel like the only man alive, and Draco couldn't imagine ever finding another person with Harry's intoxicating mix of courage, honesty, and sweetness.

The thought of Blaise getting his claws into Harry made Draco cold. With a muttered curse, he stood up determinedly. Harry was his, and if he had to fight Blaise for him, so fucking be it.

'''''''

Saturday, 3:42pm.

Little Wizard's Park, near Diagon Alley.

Draco pulled his cloak more tightly shut against the bitter wind and adjusted his position. He had to look perfectly relaxed and casual, like he read newspapers on frigid park benches all the time. At least this bench was covered, keeping the freezing rain from falling on his hair.

He stole a glance over the top of his paper, watching the little witches and wizards climb on the enchanted jungle gym. The way the slide moved reminded Draco of the staircases at Hogwarts. A little farther away, slightly older children played on toy brooms under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Draco's attention was centered, however, on the trail that circled the magical park. It was common knowledge that the new Auror recruits would run this trail three or four times a week as part of their training, and Draco just happened to know that despite the weather, Potter always went running at three on Saturdays.

Sure enough, just a few moments later Harry came jogging down the trail, cheeks very pink from the cold and the exercise.

Draco quickly pretended to be reading, knowing there was no way Harry could miss his profile. Moments later…

"…Malfoy?"

Draco looked up innocently. "Potter! Enjoying a bit of a jog, are you?"

Harry nodded, heading off the trail slightly to make his way to Draco's bench. "I didn't know…" He paused for breath. "…you came to this park."

He flopped down onto the bench next to Draco, who tried very hard not to stare dreamily at him. Harry was in Muggle athletic clothes, and he wore them very well.

"Oh sure," Draco said confidently, swallowing before he drooled all over his hand-tailored cloak. "I come here all the time."

Harry gave him a funny look. "But it's a kid's park."

Draco winced. "Er…yes. Yes it is. But, I um…love kids."

Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "You love kids?"

"Oh yes." Draco was flailing. "Puppies too."

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. "Really?"

"Certainly," Draco agreed desperately. "The cuter, the better."

Harry gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like concealed laughter. "Well, Puppy-Lover," and by his teasing tone Draco could tell that Harry didn't quite buy his story, "since you're so sweet, want to buy me something hot to drink?"

"Ha, ha," Draco said sulkily, trying to pretend he wasn't grinning like an idiot.

''''''

Saturday, 4:02pm.

Coco's Coffee House

Potter cupped his hot chocolate in his hands, which were red and chapped from the cold. "So good," he mumbled happily.

Draco paid no attention to his coffee, watching Harry's hands instead. "Don't you own gloves, Potter?" he asked, horrified by the state of the other wizard's skin.

Harry shrugged. "I outgrew the ones I had at Hogwarts, and I just never remember to get another pair."

Without thinking, Draco stripped off his own gloves and tossed them on the table in front of Harry. "Take mine."

Harry froze. "What?"

"Take my gloves," Draco repeated. "I've got about twenty other pairs at home, and you obviously need them."

Harry seemed stunned. "Malfoy, I can't take your gloves."

"Sure you can," Draco said dismissively. "They're cashmere, so they're nice and warm, and they're charmed to be waterproof, so you can still have your wretched snowball fights with the Weasleys."

Harry seemed speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened. "You'd give me the gloves off your hands?" he finally asked, his eyes bright with an emotion Draco couldn't place.

Draco shrugged. "Someone's got to look out for you, Potter, if you won't do it for yourself," he said mock-sternly.

Potter gave a choked sort of laugh. "Are you sure your midget gloves will fit my hands?" he said, even as he stroked the cashmere of the gloves.

Draco gave him a withering look, holding up his hand pointedly. "Long, aristocratic fingers," he said, waving his perfectly manicured digits in Potter's face. "You'll be lucky if the gloves aren't too big."

"Something of yours is too big for me, right," Harry muttered. He was smiling happily, however, as he pulled the gloves over his red hands. He turned his hands over a few times, admiring them. "Thanks, Malfoy, really."

Draco felt a little light-headed. "It was nothing." And suddenly he was struck by a reckless urge to invite Harry to dinner.

"Hey, Potter…" he began, and then froze. This was completely new. He'd always just surprised Harry by showing up wherever he was. Sometimes Harry would invite him places, and that was even better. But Draco had never gotten up the courage to ask Harry out himself.

"Yes?" Harry prompted, big green eyes watching Draco expectantly.

Draco flushed. "Did you, um…that is to say…would you possibly…uh…wouldyouliketohavedinnerwithmetonight?"

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Draco winced, feeling his cheeks blaze. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" he asked, as formally as he could. "Just as friends, of course," he tacked on quickly.

"Oh!" Harry said. A mix of emotions crossed his face, ranging from delighted to pensive to distressed. "I can't," he finally said, sounding genuinely distraught. "I'm having dinner with Blaise. He owled me this morning and I said yes."

Fire burned in Draco's chest even as his skin went cold. Blaise was already ahead of him. "Oh," he said, very stiffly. "Never mind then."

"You could come," Harry said, and he almost seemed hopeful. "I'm sure Blaise wouldn't mind."

Draco was quite sure Blaise would mind, and mind a lot. "No thank you. I'd rather not be the third wheel, if it's all the same to you."

Harry's face fell. "But you wouldn't…" he trailed off, suddenly engrossed in his hot chocolate.

Draco stirred his coffee moodily, staring out the window. The rain was mixed with snow again, but it wasn't sticking. The perfect snowflakes melted into puddles of water the instant they touched the ground.

"Tomorrow?"

Draco whipped his head around to see Harry watching him earnestly.

"We could do dinner tomorrow," Harry offered.

Draco's heart surged, but he shook his head. "I can't," he said, biting his lip. "I always spend Sunday with my parents." He stifled a sigh. Blaise knew that Sunday was Draco's family day, and would no doubt take advantage of his absence by spending it with Harry.

Harry bit his lip. "You spend every Sunday with your parents?"

"Malfoy tradition," Draco explained. "And it means a lot to my Mum."

"Of course it does," Harry said softly.

There was a pause.

"Monday?"

Draco eyes widened. "Yes, Monday's good, I'm free Monday," he babbled. "Let's have dinner together Monday night."

Harry's sudden, happy smile lit up the restaurant.

'''''''

Monday, 6:22pm.

Draco's flat.

Draco stood nervously in front of his fireplace, already holding the jar of Floo powder even though he wasn't going to be able to Floo to Potter's place for eight more minutes.

He touched his hair tentatively; making sure every strand was gelled in place. He'd grown it out a bit since Hogwarts but still kept it slicked back and out of his face. His Mother fussed at him about it to no end.

Draco darling, she'd said, only the day before, why do you insist on such a severe hairstyle? Why don't you wear it like your father, long and loose?

Because I'm not a bloody girl, Mum, Draco had replied. They'd had this conversation a thousand times.

Why not short and loose, then, darling? She had winked, then. Don't the boys prefer it that way?

Draco had promptly changed the subject. He drew the line at talking about his non-existent love life with his mother.

He checked his pocket watch, his face breaking into a smile. 6:27pm. He could be a couple minutes early.

'''''

Monday, 6:28pm.

Harry's flat.

Draco's world finally stopped spinning, and he stepped from Potter's fireplace with practiced grace. The living room was disappointingly empty. Slightly discouraged, Draco called out, "Potter?"

"In the kitchen, Malfoy!"

Draco perked up at Harry's answering yell. He'd been to Harry's flat the month before for a Christmas party, and followed his memory to the kitchen.

"I made reservations at Mario's," Draco began, as he rounded the corner. "I know you like - Blaise."

Draco froze in the archway leading to Potter's kitchen as he caught sight of the second wizard. Blaise was sprawled in one of Potter's barstools at the island, sipping a butterbeer like he bloody belonged in Potter's flat.

Blaise laughed his perfect, charming laugh. "You know he likes Blaise?" he repeated. "What a funny thing to say!"

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, before he could stop himself.

"We went out for coffee yesterday," Harry explained, a bit hastily. "I told him you and I were having dinner tonight."

"And I assured Harry that you wouldn't mind if I joined you," Blaise said, with a disgustingly smug look. "After all, we go way back."

A very good, very potent hex was on the tip of Draco's tongue. Instead, he smiled dangerously. "Oh yes, we go way, way back," Draco replied, in saccharine tones. "After all, I was only your, what…fifty-second fuck?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes, but Harry had stiffened noticeably.

"You two went out?" he practically barked.

"I suppose you could call it that," Draco said sweetly, looking Blaise right in the eyes. "More of an arrangement, really. I bought Blaise a lot of expensive stuff, and he let me fuck him."

"That was two years ago and you were the bottom, love," Blaise countered, voice just as dangerously sweet.

There was the sudden sound of glass shattering, and Draco and Blaise were jerked from their verbal sparring. Two heads whipped around to look at Harry, who was staring at a broken butterbeer bottle on the floor.

"Clumsy me, dropping things," he said, sounding very tense. "Let's go then, shall we?"

'''''

Monday, 7:24pm.

Mario's Italian Restaurant.

"Still not giving Muggle clothes a try then, Draco?"

Draco didn't appreciate Blaise's insinuation. "I like my robes," he bit out.

Blaise favoured him with a fake smile. "Of course you do, with all that baggy cloth. It's a great way to cover up any body flaws."

Draco set his jaw. He knew he was thin, and he did prefer the way his robes bulked him up a bit. The fact that Blaise knew this about him galled Draco to no end.

"Actually, I bet Malfoy looks great under his robes," Harry said in his honest, Gryffindor way that made Draco want to kiss him for coming to his defense (among other, eve-present reasons).

Blaise laughed a bit meanly. "Well, lucky for Draco I'm too much of a gentleman to discuss it, even though I've obviously seen him naked."

"And came crawling back for it every night until I threw you out on your arse," Draco reminded him coolly.

"Right, let's order, shall we?" Harry suddenly cut in, flipping through his menu a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Waiter? Waiter, we're ready to order!"

A waiter rushed to their table. "Mr. Potter, sir, it is such an honour -"

"I'll have the Chicken Parmigiana, and hold the flattery," Harry said curtly. "When our meal is over, please bring me the check, and no free drinks, desserts, or special treatment of any kind, got it?"

The waiter clutched at the table. "Mr. Potter, your heroics are only bested by your generosity and humbleness," he said breathlessly. He looked at Draco and Blaise. "He is too good to be true, isn't he?"

Yes, Draco thought to himself, his chest clenching slightly.

His thoughts were drowned out by Blaise's cheerful laughter. "He most certainly is," he nearly purred, a gleam in his eyes that Draco didn't like at all.

The waiter took Blaise and Draco's orders, and turned to leave. Draco caught his sleeve.

"After dinner, bring the check to me instead of Potter," he instructed quietly. Blaise was chattering away again, so Draco knew Harry hadn't heard.

The waiter winked. "Absolutely, sir. I knew you'd never let Mr. Potter pay."

"What?" Draco choked out. "How did you -"

"He's the most celebrated hero in centuries," the waiter said, in an isn't-it-obvious tone of voice. "Who'd let him pay for his own food?"

"Oh, right. Because he's a hero. Right." Draco sighed, relieved.

The waiter smiled and left. Draco turned back to Harry and Blaise.

"…I'm just saying that we should get you into some better-fitting clothes," Blaise was wheedling, eyeing Harry meaningfully. "You'd look amazing in something just a little tighter."

Harry snorted. "I doubt it."

"Harry, don't be silly," Blaise chided. "I know what kind of training they put you new Aurors through, so I know what kind of shape you must be in."

Harry shrugged. "That's a nice thing for you to say."

"It would be a nicer thing for me to do," Blaise said sweetly, taking the opportunity to squeeze Harry's arm covetously. "What if we went out dancing on Thursday? It'd be the perfect reason for you to wear something tight and sexy."

Harry made a face, but Blaise was a man on a mission. "Oh come on, love, it'll be great," he said persuasively. His hand was running all over Harry's arm now, up to his shoulder and back. "There'll be dancing, great music, you in something yummy and me in something divinely hot…"

Draco's eyes widened. "I'll come too," he said hastily.

Blaise turned to give him a completely disgusted look, but Harry immediately perked up. "Yeah, alright," he said, sounding pleased. "Sounds like fun."

Blaise looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Lovely," he countered. "How about we go to Mad Martin's, then?"

"Okay," Harry agreed cluelessly.

Draco swore under his breath. "That's the one with the Muggle dress code, isn't it?" he clarified, giving Blaise the dirtiest look he knew how to give.

"Naturally," Blaise said, with a saccharine smile. Then he gave a very fake gasp. "Oh, but Draco, I forgot, you never wear Muggle clothes, do you? I guess it'll just be me and Harry, then."

Harry looked crushed. "But…well, but maybe…"

Draco set his jaw. "No, it'll be fine," he said curtly, picking up his goblet. "Just because I don't wear Muggle clothes doesn't mean I can't."

"Really? You own Muggle clothes?" Blaise asked in surprise.

"I will by Thursday," Draco replied, mimicking Blaise's overly-innocent tones.

"Pick up something tight then, love," Blaise said condescendingly. "You might try Leto's Fashions for Little Ones. They're sure to have something in your size."

Draco sipped his wine. "Go to hell, Blaise," he retorted, as sweetly as he could.

''''''

Monday, 9:02pm

Draco's flat

"Potter, I really didn't need you to Floo me home," Draco said, as Harry dropped him off in his flat after dinner. "I'm not a helpless little girl, you know."

"Never said you were," Potter said, dusting a bit of ash off his robes. "But I'm a Gryffindor; indulge me."

"Well, I suppose if you must do your chivalrous bit of seeing dinner companions home," Draco said in long-suffering tones that completely belied the giddiness he felt at having Harry in his living room.

"You're too kind, Malfoy, really." Harry bit his lip. "So…um…guess I'll see you Thursday, then?" He seemed slightly nervous.

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Not that I need to see you in something tight, but it should be fun."

Harry looked at him strangely. "You don't want to see me in tight clothes?"

"Well of course I do." Draco winced; he really hadn't meant to say that. "I just…I just meant that you don't need to change, alright? Seeing you in clubbing clothes will be nice and all, but you don't need them. You're fine just how you are."

Harry swallowed. "I…really, I…um…I'm fine the way I am?" He was watching Draco intently, his expression completely unreadable.

Draco wanted to hit himself. "Sure, I guess. For a speccy, Gryffindor git."

A smile broke out across Harry's lips. "You say the sweetest things," he teased, but somehow his words didn't sound all that teasing. Potter was still staring at him, an intense look in his eyes. Suddenly, he took a few steps towards Draco, licking his lips as if he were trying to bolster his courage.

"Malfoy," Harry began meaningfully. Draco stood, frozen, as Harry began to approach him. "Malfoy, I…"

"EEEEEKKKK!!"

Both boys spun around to see Ketty pointing at them furiously.

"Master Draco is a naughty boy!" the House Elf squeaked angrily. "Master Draco is having other men over late at night! Oh, what would poor Mistress Malfoy say if she knew Master Draco is letting lecherous men into his home?!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Potter burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell over. "Oh…my…God…" he choked out. "Is this your House Elf?"

Draco's cheeks flushed deep, burning red. He was quite sure he had never, never been so embarrassed in all his life. "Ketty, go home to Mum, would you?"

Ketty shot the laughing Harry a dark look. "Ketty knows what you is wanting with Master Draco," he said warningly to Harry. "And Master Draco is a bad, bad boy for letting you -"

"KETTY! HOME! NOW!"

Grumbling but obedient, Ketty disappeared. Potter was still laughing. "I feel like such a brute," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I can't believe I just got called lecherous by a House Elf."

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "He's just a bit protective. And a pain in the arse."

"He's brilliant," Potter said fondly. "Protecting your virtue from strange men. I rather think I approve."

"Oh?" Draco simpered, his cheeks still flaming. "And why would that be?"

Potter suddenly seemed dodgy. "Er…um…no reason," he said quickly. "See you Thursday?"

And he was back through the Floo before Draco could ask him what all that had been about.

''''''

Wednesday, 10:41am

Office of Harry Potter, Junior Auror

Draco was having a very hard time not scowling as he read the front page of The Daily Prophet on his way to Harry's office.

Harry Potter Reported to be a "Lecherous Beast"

A Daily Prophet Exclusive!

Harry Potter, the wizarding world's own daring and dashing hero, has been described by a reliable source as a "lecherous beast" intent on having his "wicked way" with innocent wizards.

"He is thinking dirty thoughts about my master, I knows it," one source promised. Upon hearing this, another nearby source added, "Yes, it is entirely probable that Harry Potter has lecherous intentions towards my son. My son is a very good-looking young man and appallingly single. If Harry Potter wanted to have his wicked animal way with my son, I certainly wouldn't stop him."

Could it be that the darling Boy-Who-Lived is actually a predatory animal, on the prowl for sex? Wizards, hide your witches, because this reporter knows that she'd let Harry Potter slither his way between her sheets any day.

"I'm going to kill that bloody House Elf," Draco swore under his breath as he walked into Potter's office. "And my mother."

Potter's door was always easy to find; it was the one with two dozen pieces of parchment stuck to it, bearing declarations of love and offers of sex. Just behind the door, Potter's secretary was lounging in his chair, flipping through the newest issue of Saucy Sorcerers - which of course had Potter on the cover. Darren was a terrible secretary, but he was cute and sweet, and Draco figured Potter just didn't have the heart to fire him.

"Hi Darren," Draco said in what was for him a friendly manner. After all, Darren was his main source of information on Potter.

"Hey, Draco, how are you?" Darren said, looking up and smiling. "Here to see the boss man?"

"Well, yes, if Potter's not busy."

"He's never busy if you're the one wanting him, is he?" Darren winked slyly.

Draco blinked prettily. "How do you mean?"

Darren rolled his eyes. "Nothing. Never mind. Go on in, then."

Potter's office was large, with cosy furniture and pictures of his friends everywhere. He also had a very sturdy-looking desk at a very convenient height, which Draco blamed for many of his recent fantasies.

At present, Potter wasn't behind the desk, but on his hands and knees in front of the fire having a heated Floo conversation. "I don't care who you have to talk to, but make them stop running these bloody stories about me! I am not a lecherous beast! Honestly, trying to sneak a goodnight kiss does not make me -"

"Hi, Potter."

There was a horrified gasp. "Malfo - ow!" Harry exclaimed, jerking in surprise and banging his head on the fireplace. "I have to go," he said, dismissing the other party as he rubbed his head gingerly.

The voice in the fire was not pleased. "But Mr. Potter -"

"Later," Harry insisted. "Something much more important just got here." He stood up and crossed over to where Draco was standing. "Hi," he said, somewhat nervously. He cocked his head towards the fireplace. "Did you…did you by any chance hear that last bit?"

Draco nodded. "Oh yes, and I'm so sorry, truly. I had no idea the reporters would come questioning Ketty and my mother, and that Ketty would continue with his cockamamie theory about you lusting after me."

"Cockamamie theory. Right." Potter's shoulders relaxed. "So what brings you here? I thought I wasn't going to see you until tomorrow."

"Well, yes, but I have something for you," Draco said, pulling a paper bag from his robes.

Potter was staring at him, a pink flush on his cheeks. "Something more for me? Malfoy, you bring me something at least twice a week."

"Do I?" Draco asked nervously.

"Well, yes. You're always bringing lunch, or tea and sweets, or something useful or just a bit of good news."

"I…um…does that bother you?" Draco asked anxiously. Damn it, he really thought he'd been subtle!

Potter shook his head immediately. "No, of course not. I'm always happy to see you."

Draco relaxed. "Well, wait until you see what I've brought before you say that." He reached into his bag and then handed a small glass jar to Harry.

Harry's eyebrows raised. "Sleekeazy's Hair Potion? Isn't this what Hermione uses?"

"It's the best thing the wizarding world has for taming hair," Draco promised. "I noticed you'd used a bit of gel the other day, and I thought you might like to have something that actually works."

Harry was staring at the jar. "You noticed I used gel?"

"It was hard not to notice, Potter," Draco said with a shrug. "Your hair was all shiny and smooth."

"And you…noticed." Harry bit his lip.

Draco was suddenly nervous. "Well, I mean, I didn't go out of my way to notice or anything," he blurted. "But your hair is normally so ridiculously cow-licked, and the gel made it smooth, so I thought you'd like some decent gel so you can have, you know…halfway normal looking hair like the rest of us."

Harry scoffed. "Malfoy, no one has hair like yours."

"Well, of course they don't, but no one's got hair like yours either and…" Draco cursed his inability to construct an articulate sentence around Harry, always finding himself reduced to babbling. "Look, Potter, are you going to use the gel or not?"

Harry licked his lips. "Alright, I'll use it. On one condition."

Draco raised an eyebrow and listened expectantly.

"I'll use this in my hair on tomorrow, but you have to wear your hair loose."

Draco gaped. "What?"

"That's the deal. If I gel my hair, you can't gel yours. Absolutely no slicking it back."

"But I'll already be in Muggle clothes!" Draco whined desperately. "You want me to wear my hair loose too?!"

"I just want to see what you hair looks like naturally," Harry said persuasively. "Do say yes."

"But…" It was no good. Draco wasn't capable of refusing Harry something he wanted. "Alright," he said in defeat. "I'll wear it loose. I'll already be in some ridiculous outfit; might as well make myself look as big a sodding idiot as I can."

Harry beamed. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

"Oh, whatever Potter," Draco said, trying not to smile. He turned to leave.

"Wait. Is that another new robe?"

"Oh!" Draco said in surprise. It was a new robe, a deep, rich blue one. Draco had gotten it because he thought it sort of made his eyes look blue instead of the dull, slate grey they actually were. "It is, actually. I didn't think you'd noticed."

"Of course I noticed; it's a nice robe." Harry was looking at Draco critically. "Except it make your eyes almost blue."

"That's why I got it," Draco admitted. "I was so excited to find something that brought some colour to my eyes."

Harry seemed surprised. "Why? Your eyes are nice the way they are."

Draco faltered. "You think so?"

Harry nodded. "They're absolutely perfect grey."

There was suddenly a huge lump in Draco's throat.

'''''

Draco was walking on air as left Potter's office, a smile that wouldn't quit on his face. He'd almost made it to the elevator when he was yanked aside by an insistent hand on his arm.

"Malfoy."

Draco knew that voice. "Granger," he said, turning to see Harry's best friend staring at him challengingly.

"Visiting Harry again?"

"Maybe," Draco said warily.

"What did you bring him this time? Lunch? Tea? Sweets? Your naked arse on a platter?"

Draco stared and sputtered. "I …what?"

"Please," Granger said dismissively. "I know what you're up to. You've been on a mission to seduce Harry for months. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sound came out.

"I think it's gone on long enough," Granger said, folding her arms over her chest and staring Draco down. "Just what sorts of intentions do you have towards Harry? Are you planning to shag him and leave? Spend a few months enjoying his fame and then dump him in a public and spectacular manner?"

"I…no, Merlin no!" Draco said indignantly.

"Then what?" Granger wasn't backing down an inch. "What do you want from him?"

"I…well…."

"Are you in love with him?"

Draco froze.

"I saw you at St. Mungo's, you know," Granger continued, now leaning coolly against the wall next to the elevator. "When Harry was unconscious after killing Voldemort." She paused. "You were crying."

Draco was mortified. "What's your point?" he snapped, trying to ignore the fact that his face was flaming.

"Why were you crying, Malfoy?"

Draco clenched his fists in frustration. He couldn't afford to be rude to Granger. She meant too much to Harry. "He was so sick," he finally explained, somewhat reluctantly. "I was scared."

She eyed him skeptically. "You were scared?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I didn't want Potter to die, okay?!"

"Why not? Voldemort was already dead; what difference did it make to you?"

She was relentless. Draco sighed. "Because he was the only person who bothered to come for me," he admitted quietly, biting his lip. "He braved the wards around the Manor and found me and my Mum hiding in the stables. I would have died if anyone besides Potter had found me, but for some reason he decided I was worth saving and took us in."

He shrugged. "You don't just walk away after something like that. And you don't walk away from someone like Potter."

"So you do love him."

"I…" Draco chose not to answer. "What are you going to tell Potter?"

Granger looked thoughtful. "I don't know. Harry could use a boyfriend, and better you than Zabini, who only wants Harry for his fame and money."

Draco gaped in shock. "How did you know about Blaise?"

"I know everything," she answered matter-of-factly. "So, got your Muggle clothes all picked out for tomorrow?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you really knew everything, you'd know that I don't own a stitch of clothing that isn't meant for wizards," he said testily. "I was on my way to buy something right now."

Granger eyed him. "Do you know what you're going to get?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. I once saw these pictures of Muggles wearing things that kind of resembled robes, except they were shorter and had pink flowers. I guess I was thinking something like that, but hopefully without the flowers."

Granger seemed on the verge of hysterical laughter. "A dress?" she choked out. "Oh Malfoy, you such a pureblood sometimes."

Draco was going to respond indignantly that he didn't see how on earth that was a bad thing, but then Granger smiled kindly at him.

"Why don't I help you?"

''''''

Wednesday, 12:33pm

Morgana's Marvelous Mugglewear

"What about this one? Could I wear this to the club?"

"That's a woman's nightdress, Malfoy."

"Bollocks. I thought it looked too much like a robe."

"You can't wear anything that looks like a robe," Granger said firmly. "You have to wear trousers."

"But I don't like trousers," Draco protested as he turned the page. They were standing together at the counter, flipping through a large book of clothes. Morgana had already taken Draco's measurements; all he and Granger needed to do was pick out the clothes they wanted made.

"Nevertheless, trousers are what you'll be wearing." She pointed to a picture of something black and shiny. "What about something leather?"

Draco made a face. "Leather? Doesn't that chafe?"

"Mm, true," she agreed. "Especially on corsets."

"How would you know that?"

"Because Ron and I - um, I heard that. Er…somewhere," She quickly continued flipping through the pages. All of a sudden, she made a triumphant sound and pointed to a picture. "There. Perfect. That's what you should wear."

With some serious trepidation Draco looked at the picture. Then he gasped. "I can't wear that!" he exclaimed. "That's…that's…" He wanted to say tight, but he settled for, "old."

"It's not old. Those are denims, and they're supposed to look worn. It's the style."

"Well, what about that shirt? Might as well be wearing a sodding glove."

"It's meant to fit like that," Granger explained.

"Yes, but that model's got…well, you know."

"What?"

Draco looked away. "Muscles."

Granger didn't seem to understand. "So? So do you."

"Not really," Draco said reluctantly. "Not like those. I'll look ridiculous."

"You won't either. You'll look perfect."

He looked at her suspiciously. "How do I know you're not picking this out just to embarrass me? You know, as revenge."

Granger leveled him with a look. "I wouldn't do something like that," she said, sounding insulted.

Draco sighed, and looked at the model again, trying to picture his thin frame in the fitted clothes.

"You know, Harry would love this outfit," Granger mentioned casually.

Draco's stomach did a funny flip. "He would?"

"Absolutely. He's always saying he loves a bloke in denims."

Really, how could Draco resist after that?

'''''

Thursday, 7:23pm.

Draco's flat.

The delivery from Morgana's had come right on schedule. The owl dropped off several packages, each bearing an article of Muggle clothing or an accessory to match.

Now all Draco had to do was put it on.

He'd already showered and done his hair. It had taken a lot of willpower not to style it as usual, firmly slicked back so not a hair could move. Instead, he was letting it dry naturally, using just a bit of product to keep it smooth.

The outfit Granger had picked out for him lay on the bed. Draco had already darkened all the mirrors in the bedroom, refusing to look at himself as he dressed. He was afraid if he saw himself in the Muggle clothes, he'd chicken out of wearing them. Normally he wouldn't be too fussed about chickening out, but then Blaise would win, and he couldn't have that.

He reluctantly shed his bathrobe and began to dress. To his surprise, the denims weren't nearly as tight as he'd expected. They fit his arse, but were fairly lose everywhere else. The long-sleeved shirt was just as form-fitting as he'd feared, but at least it was soft and comfortable. Draco dutifully pulled on the shoes, belt, and other bits and pieces that Granger had felt he needed, and then straightened up.

Unable to stall any longer, Draco undid the spell on the mirror, and fearfully met his reflection.

He stared in shock. "Merlin in pink silk knickers," he whispered. "Is that really me?"

He barely recognized himself. Loose, his hair fell into his eyes, softening his features. The Muggle trousers rested low on his hip bones, just beneath the edge of the fitted shirt, highlighting an enviably flat stomach. The shirt clung to his torso and the lean muscles he hadn't known he had. To his utmost surprise, he didn't look scrawny, or skinny, or ugly.

He looked good.

He leaned forward to stare at the mirror, wondering if he was mistaken. "Mirror, is that really me? No tricks or spells or anything?"

"Honey, that's you, and you ought to come served with a side of tea and cake," the mirror said lecherously. "You're positively edible."

Draco turned around again and again, staring at his arse, his arms, his chest, his hair. No matter what angle he viewed from, or how long he stared, there was absolutely no two ways about it:

Draco Malfoy made one hot Muggle.

'''''

Thursday, 8:32pm.

Mad Martin's.

Draco hadn't meant to be quite so late, but he'd spent a bit more time preening than he'd expected. Instead of slinking into the club in humiliation at being caught in Muggle clothes, he strolled in like he owned the place. The appreciative stares of nearby witches and wizards made him smirk in delight.

He scanned the club, walking around the perimeter until he finally spotted his group. Granger and Weasley had come along, joining Potter and Blaise in a cramped round booth. Granger had situated herself between Blaise and Harry, acting as a sort of barrier and obviously frustrating Blaise. Draco knew it wasn't an accident, and could have kissed her for it.

Feeling amazingly confident, he strolled up to the table. "Hi all."

Four heads snapped in his direction. Eight eyes widened. Four jaws dropped.

"Draco?" Blaise asked in disbelief, looking at Draco like he'd never seen him before.

"Oy, Malfoy, you look like a bleeding Muggle model," was Weasley's flabbergasted contribution.

"Nice outfit," Granger informed him smugly. Draco winked at her. He'd already decided to fund S.P.E.W. for the next twenty years.

Harry still hadn't said a word. He just gaped, looking as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Finally, he seemed to recover his voice. "You…Malfoy, you…you look…" He swallowed audibly. "I like your hair," he finally choked out.

An involuntary smile lit up Draco's face. "Thank you," he said happily.

Harry shook himself a bit, and then scooted as close to Granger as he could to free up a few inches next to him. "Here, you can sit down if you want. By me. Or just sit down. Whatever." He hadn't taken his eyes off Draco.

Draco sat delicately, a thrill singing through him as his thigh pressed up against Harry's. "So," he said sweetly. "What are we talking about?"

They chatted away for the next half hour - or, at least, Draco chatted with Weasley and Granger. Blaise wasn't saying much, just looking at Draco in disbelief, and Harry - well, Harry seemed to be intent on drinking Mad Martin's out of Firewhiskey.

"Hey, slow down mate, that's your fourth one," Weasley protested, as Harry threw back another shot.

"Shutup, Ron," Harry retorted defiantly, if a bit slurred. He stared at Draco intently for a moment, then turned back to his friend. "I need it."

Weasley shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm going to be the one dragging your sorry arse home tonight."

Blaise suddenly stirred to life. "Oh, I can see him home if you like, Weasley. I'd be happy -"

"Thanks, Zabini, we'll take care of him," Granger snapped curtly, in a don't-even-fucking-think-about-it tone of voice.

Draco shivered. Gryffindors were scary when they got protective.

Harry's fifth shot disappeared down his throat, and then he slammed the glass back on the table. "Let's dance."

Weasley burst out laughing. "You are pissed, aren't you?" he asked, but was getting to his feet anyway. Draco and the others stood as well, and they trooped out to the dance floor together.

Blaise immediately insinuated himself into Harry's arms, grinding seductively against the other boy. Draco watched with an angry, set jaw as Blaise effortlessly moved against Potter. He hated to admit it, but after all this time, he still found Blaise sexy. How on earth was Potter ever going to resist him?

"Dance with someone else," a voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

Draco turned to find Granger right next to him. "What?"

"Dance with someone else," she repeated. She inclined her head toward Blaise and Harry. "Trust me."

Draco bit his lip. She had been right about the Muggle clothes; perhaps she knew what she was talking about now.

A very built, very fit sort of bloke was dancing not too far away and smiling invitingly at Draco. Taking Granger's advice, he moved in the other man's direction.

Suddenly he was caught, as two arms wrapped themselves around Draco's waist. Surprised, Draco looked over his shoulder to see Harry.

"Oh no you don't," the other boy said sternly. "You stay away from him."

Harry's breath against his ear sent shivers down Draco's spine. "Why should I?"

"He's looking at you."

"Is he? And the big, brave Gryffindor is going to protect helpless ickle Draco from men who look at him now?"

"Maybe." Potter sounded defiant, and his arms didn't leave Draco's waist. If anything, they got tighter, as the nearby man eyed Draco covetously. "I don' like it when they look at you like that."

Draco stilled in surprise at Harry's words. He tilted his head up again to see Harry glaring at the man he'd been planning to dance with. He took a deep breath, and the faint sent of Firewhiskey tickled his nose.

"Potter, you are so drunk," he observed.

"So?" Harry responded. Then he jerked Draco slightly to one side. "Back off," he snapped at a different dark haired bloke who had just looked at Draco for a moment too long.

"You're quite a territorial drunk, aren't you?"

"Hush. I have a chest monster, and 'Mione says that's perfectly normal. Get away!" he hissed, manhandling Draco to his other side and far away from a blonde man who may or may not have glanced in Draco's direction.

Draco would have laughed if he hadn't been enjoying himself so much. "What's a chest monster?"

"Um…it kinda roars and stuff when other people want you," Harry attempted to explain. Then he yanked Draco backwards, holding him possessively against his chest. "You can't have him, he's mine!" he snarled at an innocent passerby.

A happy smile lit up Draco's face. Whatever this chest monster was, it was brilliant. He leaned back slightly into the warmth of Harry's chest and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes a moment later, he found Blaise watching them. They locked eyes, and Draco stared at Blaise challenging. After a moment, Blaise's gaze left his to study Harry. The other boy's arms were still around Draco protectively, and he was practically growling at the other patrons of the club.

Blaise nodded in an understanding way, and then, to Draco's great surprise, he tipped his head towards Draco in a gesture of conceding defeat. Then he winked at Draco, blew him a quick goodbye kiss, and turned to leave the club.

On his way out, he shot a charming smile at a handsome, well-dressed bloke standing near the door. The man promptly spun on his heel, left his date and followed Blaise out of the club, looking completely love struck.

Draco was still trying to understand just why Blaise had given up when the music died down, replaced by the DJ's voice. "And now…" he said dramatically. "A song for all you couples out there!"

The languid beats of a mushy love song came on, and Draco sighed. He knew Harry rarely danced as it was, and never danced to anything slow. Reluctantly, he took a step towards their table.

Instantly, the arms around his waist tightened, and Draco found himself trapped.

"Don' go," Harry pleaded, pulling Draco back against his chest. "Dance with me. Please?"

The world around Draco seemed to fade away. He slowly whispered, "Okay," and turned in Harry's arms so that they faced each other. He gingerly wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and waited to wake up.

They turned together slowly and at their own pace, not paying the music much notice. Harry made a content noise.

"Perfect," he said, and Draco couldn't have agreed more. Harry's arms were strong and warm around him, resting in the small of his back. One hand lay against the bare skin of Draco's lower back, between the waist of his trousers and the bottom of his shirt. That patch of skin prickled at the contact, making Draco squirm a little closer to Harry.

Potter leaned forward, and his cheek brushed against Draco's hair. "Your hair is nice," Potter said, turning to nuzzle Draco slightly. "Can I touch it?"

Draco gulped. "I'm all sweaty."

"Don' care."

Draco's voice was not as steady as he would have liked as he replied, "All…alright, then." And like something from one of his dreams, Potter's hand slowly rose up and rested against Draco's head.

"Mmm, soft." Potter's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he slowly slid the tangle-free strands through his fingers. He repeated the soothing motion, and Draco was powerless to resist dropping his head to Potter's shoulder and burying his face against the warm skin of Potter's neck.

Potter rested his cheek on Draco's head, the arm around Draco's waist tightening to pull him even closer. One hand continued to play with Draco's hair as the other traced comforting circles in the small of his back. Draco felt so safe and cherished that thought he almost could have fallen asleep, except that every nerve was screamingly awake.

"Come home with me, Draco," Harry said suddenly.

Draco was so startled he lifted his head from Harry's shoulder to stare at Harry's glassy eyes. He didn't know what shocked him more - the request or the use of his first name.

"Potter…" Draco swallowed. "Harry, you're drunk."

"Don' care."

"But I care. You'd never invite me home if you were sober."

"Not true!" Harry protested. "I'm mad for you when I'm sober. Honest."

Draco's heart skipped a beat, but his cynical Slytherin mind refused to put too much stake in the words of the drunk. "No, you're not," he said quietly. "We're just friends."

"We could be more," Harry insisted. "I could be your boyfriend. I could shag you good, promise."

"Harry!" Draco was torn between laughing and jumping Potter right there on the dance floor.

"Or you could shag me. 'Cept I think you're a bottom," Harry mused. "But you can still shag me if you want. Or we could just snuggle. You'd be a brilliant teddy."

Draco snorted. "Oh Harry, you are going to regret this in the morning," he said softly, giving into the temptation to brush some of Harry's hair out of his face.

"No'm not," Harry slurred, with an emphatic shake of his head. "I fancy you like mad. Have done for ages."

Draco raised an eyebrow when he realized the hand on his lower back was creeping down towards his arse. Over Harry's shoulder, Draco could see Granger and Weasley - chivalrous Gryffindors that they were - racing to his rescue.

"You're beautiful," Harry informed Draco, as he hooked his thumb on Draco's back pocket.

To his horror, Draco felt himself blush. "You're just saying that because I'm letting you touch my arse," he said impishly, trying to cover how flustered he felt.

"Nope," Harry said, squeezing said part of Draco's anatomy. "I'm saying it 'cause you're beautiful. Isn't that right, Ron?" he said, as Weasley appeared at his side.

"Okay mate, time to go," the red-head said, shaking his head as he tried to pry Harry off Draco. "Stop molesting poor Malfoy." He gave Draco an apologetic look. "Sorry, he's not usually all touchy-feely when he's drunk."

Draco's stomach did a funny sort of flip. "Guess I'm just lucky then," he said lightly.

"M'not touchy-feeler," Harry protested, as Weasley detached his hand from Draco's waist and wrapped it around his own shoulders. Draco was rather disappointed to see it go.

"Oh yes you are," Weasley told him in amusement. "You just had your grabby paws all over Malfoy's bum."

"Oh," Harry said, looking at Draco with an adorably puzzled expression. His glasses were crooked and his hair was a fright, and Draco was sure he'd never seen Harry look cuter. "'S cause Draco has a nice bum," he whispered conspiratorially to the pretty much the entire club. "Specially in denims."

Draco felt slightly warm at the compliment, even as everyone in hearing range chuckled.

"Oh Harry, you will be so mortified if you remember any of this," Weasley remarked, fighting a smile. "Let me take you home."

"Okay, but Draco too. I'm gonna be his boyfriend and he's gonna be my teddy."

Draco's cheeks went pink, and everyone present laughed harder. Weasley's shoulders were shaking as he tried not to laugh, addressing Harry as seriously as he could.

"I think Malfoy might have a few choice words to say about that, mate. You're bloody lucky he hasn't hexed you yet."

"Oh, it's alright," Draco said hastily, trying to pretend he wasn't floating on air. "I don't mind."

"There now, see how nice he is?" Weasley said reasonably to Harry. "Poor bloke doesn't deserve to be turned into your cuddle-toy. Now say goodbye to Malfoy."

Harry waved obediently. "Bye, beautiful," he said, letting Weasley drag him towards the exit.

Draco waved back. "Bye, Potter!"

"Love you!" Harry called over his shoulder as they left the room.

Draco froze mid-wave. His mouth worked silently for a moment, and then a smile broke out across his face. Even if Harry was soused to the gills and had no idea what he was saying, Draco was going to remember this moment forever.

"A-hem."

Draco started, and turned to find Granger watching him. "Yes, Granger?" he asked resignedly.

"Why didn't you go home with him?" she asked, going straight to point.

Draco gave her a funny look. "He was drunk."

"So? Don't you want him?"

"Yes, Merlin yes, but sober! He had no idea what he was saying or doing tonight. Do you really think I'd take advantage of him in a state like that?"

Granger studied him for a moment. "Are you free for lunch tomorrow?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes, but what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at noon," she said, "and I'll tell you how to win Harry's heart." And then she disappeared into the crowd.

''''''''''

Friday, 11:41am.

The Leaky Cauldron

Draco was at the Leaky Cauldron a full twenty minutes early, immaculately dressed in formal robes and fully prepared to spend a small fortune on Granger's lunch if she was seriously planning to help him. He sat in a booth at the back, drumming his fingers nervously on the table and barely tasting the pumpkin juice he'd ordered.

Granger was a few minutes early, to Draco's relief. He hadn't been looking forward to the bald spot he was going to give himself if he kept tearing out his hair from nerves.

"Hi Malfoy," she said politely, as she took the seat across from him.

"Granger," he returned.

"You sent Harry Hangover Potion this morning." It wasn't a question.

Draco nodded. "I was worried he might not feel well after everything he drank last night."

"Did you make it yourself?"

"Of course," Draco said guardedly. "I can make a stronger, safer version than those half-wits at the Apothecary."

"Doesn't that potion take several hours to brew?"

Draco shrugged. "I got up early. What's your point?"

Granger was regarding him seriously. "You really care about him," she said slowly.

Draco rolled his eyes and looked away, uncomfortable with being so easy to see through. "So what? Everyone cares about Potter," he said petulantly.

"No, they don't," she snapped back. "I've watched people attempt to manipulate their way into his life since he was eleven. They don't care about him; they want a piece of his fame, his money, his power."

"I don't," Draco protested immediately.

"No, you don't," she said, a small grin suddenly flashing onto her face. "You just want a piece of his arse."

Draco snorted. "Speaking of wanting Potter's arse, didn't you say something about helping me?"

Granger nodded. "You're the first person I've seen in a long time who's really interested in just Harry. I'm willing to help you get him."

"Don't I get some kind of Gryffindor don't you dare hurt my best friend speech first?" he simpered.

"Of course," she said sweetly. "If you so much as think of hurting my best friend then I'll use a Banishing spell to send your bollocks to America."

Draco goggled. "Can you really do that?"

Granger smiled coolly.

Draco gulped. "Okay. You have my word I won't hurt him. Not like I would have anyway," he muttered.

"Good. Now, if you really want to win Harry's heart…"

Draco leaned forward expectantly.

"…make him dinner."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Make him dinner," Granger repeated. "Not one person besides Mrs. Weasley has ever done that for him."

"But…but I…I can't cook," Draco said desperately. "Whatever I make will be absolutely inedible."

"Doesn't matter," Granger said meaningfully. "It's the thought. Harry used to have to cook for those horrible Muggles he lived with. Do you know how much it would mean to him to have someone cook for him?"

Draco thought about it. He knew how horrible those Muggles had been - he'd already picked out seven different curses to use as soon as he learned where they lived.

"The password for his Floo is dragon. I'll make sure Harry doesn't go home until six or so," Granger promised. "You can be waiting in the kitchen for him with a homemade meal. Trust me, Malfoy, he'll fall head over heels for you."

Draco bit his lip.

"Look, I was right about the clothes, wasn't I?"

Draco looked across the table at her. She was watching him with an earnest expression, and he felt a little of his doubt melt away. "Okay," he agreed, with only a bit of trepidation.

Granger broke into a smile. "Wonderful," she said, pleased. "He's going to be so happy."

Draco rolled his eyes again, but the thought of making Potter happy had him flushed with pleasure.

"Hey, speaking of the clothes you wore last night, have you seen the front page of today's Prophet?"

Draco shook his head, so Granger passed him the newspaper. He took it - and promptly burst out laughing.

There was Potter, draped possessively all over him, with one hand hooked in Draco's back pocket like they'd been dating for months. In enormous letters the headline screamed: Jealousy abounds when Harry "Lecherous Beast" Potter takes Draco Malfoy to Mad Martin's!

"I don't have to tell you how embarrassed Harry is right now, do I?" Granger said, looking quite amused. "It's a good thing you sent him that potion; he was prepared to believe you'd hate him forever. Poor guy thought he'd ruined all his chances with you."

"Oh, Potter," Draco said fondly, watching the other boy pull his picture self closer. Then he furrowed his brow and looked up at Granger. "Wait…ruined all what chances with me?"

Granger's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, would you look at the time, gotta run!" she blurted. And in a flash of bushy hair and black robes, she was gone.

'''''

Friday, 5:02pm

Harry's Flat

Draco looked dubiously at the spread of ingredients on the kitchen counter before him: chicken, tomato sauce, cheese, breadcrumbs and pasta. He was pretty sure that these were the necessary items to make Chicken Parmigiana, which he knew Harry liked because he'd ordered it at Mario's the other night.

He wasn't quite sure how they all went together, but the Muggle cookbook Granger had left for him promised that even a beginner could make this dish. He was very tempted to just holler for Ketty, but he knew it would ruin the whole point of tonight. Instead, he leaned over the book and read.

Dip chicken into an egg and milk mixture before coating thoroughly with seasoned breadcrumbs. Lightly brown chicken on both sides.

Draco winced. What the hell did that mean? Where did the egg and milk come from? How did the breadcrumbs get seasoning on them? Was he supposed to use a colour-changing spell on the chicken?

"Fuck," he muttered. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he Accio'd the milk and eggs from Potter's refrigerator. He put several whole eggs in a large bowl and was just about to pour the milk over them when he paused.

I could splash milk on myself, he realized in horror. He was dressed to perfection in his nicest robes for his date tonight with Harry. Considering how rubbish he was at cleaning spells, he didn't want to chance spilling food on his clothes.

He quickly stripped off his robes, folding them carefully and setting them a good distance away. Underneath he was wearing a pair of short black boxer briefs - and nothing else. He grimaced as he thought about the likelihood of hot food splashing up onto his unprotected skin.

Surely Potter's got an apron around here, he thought, raising his wand. "Accio Potter's apron!" he called, and moments later a large piece of red fabric came flying at him.

He caught it deftly and shook it out. Then he blanched.

The apron wasn't just red; it was bright, flaming, Gryffindor red with a large Gryffindor house crest. Emblazoned across the front in big gold letters were the words Lions Do It on All Fours.

"Classy," Draco muttered, as he tied it on. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he picked the milk back up and went back to work.

The recipe still confused him, but he did the best he could. He dipped the chicken into the egg and milk mixture, though he hardly saw the point of adding eggs, they just sat in a big white pile at the bottom of the bowl like stones. He seasoned the breadcrumbs with a mixture of oregano, salt, pepper, curry powder, cinnamon and cocoa - in short, everything he'd found in Potter's cupboard. He coated the chicken and then spelled it brown on both sides, using a lovely neutral shade of khaki that looked quite fetching under the red tomato sauce. He artistically constructed a small mountain in the very middle with the cheese and then carefully bent over to put the whole thing in the cold oven.

Although he couldn't hear very well with his head almost in the oven, Draco's stomach suddenly lurched when he thought he heard something like footsteps. The next moment he froze in dread, as shoes echoed on the hard tile.

Then the loudest gasp Draco had ever heard filled the kitchen, along with a familiar voice.

"Bloody fucking hell!"

In horror Draco whirled around, dropping the Chicken Parmigiana all over the oven as he straightened up. Eyes wild, he stared at Harry Potter, who was staring back at him.

"Potter!" he choked out. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only 5:30! "What are you doing home so early?!"

"Hermione said I had a surprise waiting and to come home straight away." Harry had not taken his eyes off Draco for a single second, and he was clutching the counter as if he needed the support.

Draco seethed as a hot blush crept over his face. He'd kill Granger for this.

Harry's fingers were turning white where they gripped the counter. "Is that…my apron?" he managed to ask, swallowing loud enough for Draco to hear.

Draco's blush deepened, and he refused to answer.

Harry's gaze left Draco for just a moment to dart around the room. Draco watched in increasing mortification as Harry took in the carton of eggs residing in their large bowl, the many piles of breadcrumbs and spices scattered on the counters, the empty jars of tomato sauce overturned and dribbling on the floor, and the spilled dish of chicken slowly dripping its contents all over the oven.

"Were you…making me dinner?"

Draco's face was now so red that he was sure he resembled the apron he was wearing.

Harry looked liked he'd been hit by a train. He swallowed again, and closed his eyes. "You have exactly two minutes, Malfoy," he began, in slow, measured tones, "to put your clothes back on and get the hell out of my flat."

Draco crumpled in defeat, his shoulders sagging. He stared at the ground, willing himself not to cry.

"…because if you stay one second longer," Harry continued, his voice strained, "then I am going to throw you down right on the counter and shag you till you beg for mercy."

Draco froze.

Time seemed to slow at that moment, as he very slowly raised his head to find Harry staring at him hungrily.

"I think I've been a very patient man, Draco Malfoy." The low, sexy way Harry said his name left Draco's mouth completely dry. "I've stayed strong these past few months. Through your gifts, your visits, you being everywhere I needed you to be…I kept telling myself that you only wanted to be my friend, and I was very lucky to have that much."

Harry looked away. "Then last night, you showed up in that outfit, as if you'd pulled it straight from my fantasies…looking so goddamned irresistible it should have been illegal…"

He took a deep breath. "I drank five shots of Firewhiskey in a useless attempt to keep away from you, and instead I ended up all over you like a territorial animal. But instead of hexing me for touching your arse, you let me, and then brewed me a hangover potion this morning."

Harry turned back and fixed him with another stare, his pupils so dilated there was almost no green left. "In spite of everything, I have kept my hands to myself and behaved like a proper gentleman." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But even Harry Potter's got his limits, and you just reached them. Finding you in nothing but an apron, making me dinner, which no one has ever done for me before…"

He swallowed, and Draco could see the tension in his body, every muscle stretched and vibrating. "I promise, if you don't put your clothes on and escape, I'm going to maul you."

There was silence, save for the heavy, desperate breathing coming from both of them.

"You've got maybe a minute left," Harry finally said, nearly burning Draco with the heat of his gaze. "And then you better run."

Draco was quite, quite sure that he'd never been so turned on in his life, and that included the time he'd accidentally seen Harry naked in the showers after a Quidditch match. He hastened to remove the apron, his fingers shaking as they yanked uselessly at the knots around his neck and waist.

"Thirty seconds." Harry's scorching gaze hadn't changed as he kept time, and Draco felt light-headed with triumph and excitement. Potter wants me! Harry wants me! Harry is going to shag me!

The knots on the apron refused to budge as Draco's sweaty hands slipped and scrabbled over them. He let out a mumbled curse, which made Harry smile wickedly.

"Can't get it off?" he teased, taking a step towards Draco. "Are you going to be trapped here after all? Completely at my mercy?"

Draco's already hard cock jerked slightly. "Harry," he whined breathlessly.

"It won't protect you from me," Harry warned, as he stalked closer. "I'll shag you right through that apron if I have to."

Draco closed his eyes briefly; Harry was turning him on in the worst way, and he didn't want a stupid fucking apron getting in between them. He tugged at the apron frantically, intent on ripping it off, but the sodding thing wouldn't budge.

"Draco."

Draco looked up expectantly.

Harry licked his lips. "Your time's up."

The next moment Draco's world was upended as Harry pounced, actually lifting Draco off his feet as he scooped him into his arms. Draco instinctively wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and his legs around Harry's waist, and then the next moment, they crashed their mouths together.

Draco moaned into Harry's mouth as they attempted to devour each other by kissing. Six months of unrequited love was obliterated by the hot slide of Harry's tongue against his, and the possessive feel of Harry's arms around his body.

"I wanted you for ages," Harry managed to say, as they kissed frantically. "I've dreamed about this."

Draco's heart felt like it might burst. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Harry promised. His hands found their way onto Draco's bum. "Merlin, I love your arse."

"Then do something with it," Draco hissed, tightening his arms around Harry's neck. He was almost painfully turned on by the helplessness of his position, knowing that unless he wanted to fall, he was powerless to stop Harry from touching him.

Given permission, Harry thrust his hands down Draco's shorts, both of them taking harsh breaths when his hands came in contact with Draco's bare skin.

"Fuck!"

"That's the idea," Draco snarled, shuddering as his trapped cock brushed against Harry's stomach through three layers of cloth.

Harry slid one hand further down, cupping the bottom of Draco's cheeks and squeezing firmly.

Draco's eyes rolled back, and he broke the kiss to latch his teeth onto Harry's neck. "Fuck me," he demanded, too close to getting what he'd dreamed of to hold back a moment longer.

Harry nearly growled at that, and then Draco found himself flat on his back on the island counter on top of a pile of oregano. Harry crawled onto the granite counter above him, and Draco reluctantly unlocked the death grip his legs had on Harry's waist.

"You are so hot," Harry rasped, crawling up Draco's body and insinuating himself between Draco's legs. "In my fucking apron, no less."

Draco didn't have time to feel embarrassed about the tacky apron he'd been caught in; not when Harry yanked it aside and started sucking at one nipple. He arched into the action, a high pitched whine escaping him.

Harry pulled off, kissing his way down Draco's side and over his ribs. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised. "You've had this coming for months."

"Less talking, more fucking," Draco ordered through clenched teeth.

Harry raised his head. "Oh, you think you're in charge, do you?"

And the next moment he had leapt off Draco and off the counter completely. Draco looked at him, aghast. "Harry!" he whined, horrified by the loss of contact.

Harry licked his lips predatorily and then grabbed Draco behind the knees. "You're in my house," he said firmly, and then yanked on Draco's legs, pulling him the remaining few inches through the tomato sauce and spices. Draco squealed, scrambling a bit with his arse now balanced precariously on the edge of the counter.

"You're in my apron," Harry continued, pulling the fabric out of the way. "And you've been my fantasy for over six months, so you just lie back and look pretty and let me have my way."

Draco glared at him indignantly. "But I -"

And then he gasped, as Harry bent his head down to mouth Draco's straining cock through his thin cotton briefs. "Don't you argue with me," Harry chided, now that he had Draco's undivided attention. "You have been my hero and my angel for the last six months. You've done nothing but nice things for me, and now it's my turn to do something nice for you."

"But -"

"Yes, we'll get to your butt, but first -"

Harry yanked down the waistband of Draco's shorts, freeing several inches of hard cock, which he promptly sucked into his mouth.

Draco's head fell back against the counter with a loud bang. "Fuck, okay, have it - fuck, your way!" he managed to say, completely undone by Harry's talented mouth.

"That's more like it," Harry cooed. Using one hand to fist the lower half of Draco's cock through the elastic waistband and bunched up fabric of his shorts, he continued to lick and suck the head. Draco was quickly reduced to nothing but whimpers, until the fingers of Harry's free hand were pressed against his lips.

Draco immediately sucked them into mouth, soaking them with saliva, mimicking the motions of Harry's mouth on his prick. He was almost sorry when Harry pulled them away - until he felt them pressed against a highly sensitive part of his body.

Harry still hadn't pulled off his briefs, instead slithering his hand inside them through one of the leg holes. With Draco's legs spread and resting on his shoulders, he had a perfect angle to work from.

"Fuck!" Draco exclaimed, as the tip of Harry's slick finger pressed inside him. He shuddered in pleasure. "Fuck, Harry!"

Harry stopped briefly, looking up at Draco with glittering, questioning eyes. Draco whined; why wasn't Potter moving?

"Are you…?" Harry asked warily, studying Draco closely.

Draco suddenly realized that the bloody Gryffindor was waiting for permission. "Don't be such a fucking gentleman, Potter!" he snarled. "Get the fuck on with it!"

Harry's eyes flashed, and he dove back onto Draco's cock with renewed vigor. At the same time, he slid his finger completely into Draco's body and curled it.

Draco nearly howled as intense pleasure ricocheted through him. Fuck, how was Potter so fucking coordinated? Tongue and lips and hands and fingers and Draco couldn't think anymore. He had tomato sauce in his hair and fingers in his arse and Harry's mouth on his cock and Merlin on a broomstick he was going to come.

"Harry, Harry I'm -"

Harry pressed on his prostate again, and that did it. Draco came so hard that he would have fallen off the counter without Harry's strong arms to hold him up. His legs tightened, his toes curled, his heels dug into Harry's shoulders and Harry just kept right on sucking until Draco finally flopped back against the counter, utterly spent.

"Mmm, Harry," he said, with a happy sigh.

Harry kissed the inside of his thigh before carefully removing his finger and gently lowering Draco's legs. Draco was forced to slowly sit up until he found himself sitting at the edge of the counter, Harry's arms loosely around his waist.

Harry leaned in and kissed him sweetly. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and lazily returned the kiss.

After a few moments, they broke apart. Draco smiled shyly at Harry. "Have you really been fantasizing about me for six months?"

Harry smiled back. "At least," he admitted. "And I'm sorry I got all demanding on you, but I'd wanted to do that to you for ages, and you were being…well, you know."

"What?"

"Bossy."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Bossy?"

"Yeah. Trying to take charge, tell me what to do. For a moment I thought I was going to have to tie you up."

A little jolt of renewed lust went through Draco's body, but he assumed a disdainful attitude. "Tie me up? Ridiculous. Uncouth. Utterly barbaric."

A sly smile crossed Harry's face. "Protesting just a little too much, aren't we?"

Draco's mouth dropped. "Common brute," he said haughtily, wriggling slightly on the counter as his cock began to take interest again.

Harry leaned forward to whisper in Draco's ear. "If you think that was brutish, wait until I shag you."

Draco's breath caught. "Rubbish," he said impishly.

"What do you mean, rubbish?"

"I mean that all this talk about shagging me, and all my poor arse gets is a bit of groping. You're not a brute; you're an arse tease."

Harry's eyes flashed. "I'll show you a tease." He pulled Draco off the counter and set him on his feet. "In the bedroom, now," he ordered, giving the blonde a little push forward.

Draco grinned. "But Harry, I don't know where your bedroom is," he said sweetly, and then squealed as the other boy landed a playful smack on his bum.

"Find it, then!"

Draco laughed delightedly, racing out of the kitchen. Harry was right on his heels, and moments later they were tumbling down together onto Harry's enormous bed, wrapped up in arms and legs and denims and tacky aprons.

"Merlin, I'm crazy for you," Harry admitted, rolling Draco onto his back. "I thought I was going to clock Blaise a couple times for getting too close to you."

Draco nearly burst out laughing. "You thought Blaise was after me?"

"He certainly was!" Harry insisted adamantly. "He might have gotten you back, too, except I wasn't going to let him. I know it took me six months to get you, but now - you're mine."

Harry sounded so adorably smug that Draco had to roll him back over and kiss him fiercely. Then Harry had to roll him back over and kiss him even more fiercely. And then when Draco tried to flip Harry again and get back on top, Harry wasn't having it, and consequently Draco ended up on his stomach beneath Harry, who seemed intent on claiming every inch of Draco's body as his own.

With his tongue.

'''''

Much, much later, they cuddled together like spoons in a drawer, Draco's back tucked snugly against Harry's chest.

Should I tell him who Blaise actually wanted? Draco wondered, as he gently stroked the arm around his waist. Should I confess how much I schemed to get him? Should I tell him that I've been completely smitten with his stupid, Gryffindor arse for months?

Harry suddenly pulled Draco a little closer. "My Draco," he mumbled fuzzily, placing a loving, sleepy kiss on Draco's head. "Mine."

Draco grinned.

Nah.

'''''''The Happy End!'''''''