1  The Article

"… three of the sexiest wizards to play the game of Quidditch since Oliver Wood and Victor Krum. This Terrible Trio, as the fans are calling them, have turned the Chudley Cannons into a fierce contender for the World Cup.

They are fast, fit, and fabulous to look at. Their firm bodies are splattered with both Muggle and wizard tattoos, a new trend among the younger Quidditch players. Mr. Malfoy's snake slithers along his chest like a seductive caress; you find yourself hypnotized, unable to look away as it coils around his side and glides along his back. At one point, the snake seemed to try to attack Mr. Weasley, who actually fell out of his chair in a panic and insisted Mr. Malfoy "keep the slimy thing away" from him. When Mr. Weasley added that he'd "have Harry tell the snake to bite the git" in an area that would be unpleasant for any wizard, there were some rather colourful words exchanged between the two, until Mr. Potter defused the situation.

As you may have guessed, Ronald Weasley is as fiery in person as he is on the field, full of intensity and spit. He is well known for his hot temper and even hotter assets, which, I can tell you, are not an exaggeration. I asked him about his tattoos as well, both, surprisingly enough, Muggle. He was quite tight lipped on the subject. However, after some digging, I discovered they are both a result of a little too much Firewhisky. The clover on his very lovely chest has become a lucky charm of sorts, and he has added his brother Fred's name as a touching tribute to his sibling lost in the war.

And what of the famous Hogwarts rivalries among these three? Well, from what I can tell, there is still plenty of tension - sexual tension that is. Mr. Harry Potter, Seeker extraordinaire, broke up with Ginny Weasley, sister of Ronald Weasley, around the same time Mr. Malfoy joined the team. When I questioned Mr. Potter about his detachment from Miss Weasley, he refused to answer, though I did not miss the way his gaze shifted to Mr. Malfoy; nor did I miss the longing in his eyes.

Harry listened to Ron reading the article, dumbfounded. "I wasn't .. I didn't ... but ... " he sputtered.

Draco chuckled. "Admit it, Potter, you want me."

"Oh wait, Malfoy," Ron added. "Apparently you fancy Harry as well. Listen to this:

Mr. Malfoy, as rich and famous as he is, appears to have everything he could possibly dream of. Everything, I believe, except for what he really wants. "What does the sexy blonde lack?" you might ask. Well, it was apparent to this reporter by the end of the interview that what Mr. Malfoy really wants is the raven haired seeker sitting next to him. Some of you might find this quite unbelievable, given their past history, but it was blatantly obvious to me by the lust in his eyes whenever he happened to glance in Mr. Potter's direction."

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "Lust in your eyes, hmm? Let me see!" Harry moved closer to get a better look, and Draco's eyes went wide as he took a step back. "Well, lust isn't what I'd call that look. More like fear." He chuckled again.

"Shut up! I don't ... I ... " Draco looked pained, searching for the right words. Looking at Harry, he finished with a determined tone. "You are just not my type."

"Ahem," Ron interjected. "According to this article, Harry is exactly your type. Let's see ...

Further research into Mr. Malfoy's long list of past companions shows that he has consistently dated men who look suspiciously like Mr. Potter - dark hair, light eyes, similar height and build. Perhaps he doesn't realize it, but -- "

"That's enough," Draco warned, cutting Ron off before he finished. "They don't know what they're talking about."

Harry looked amused until Ron turned to him. "Oh, Harry, if I were you, I wouldn't get too cocky - er, so to speak. What else does this article say about you here? Oh yes ...

The snitch tattoo on Mr. Potter's tanned bicep seems to flutter when he gets uncomfortable, like when I asked him about the recent reports of him being sighted with various wizards. Various blonde wizards. Wizards that could be mistaken for Mr. Draco Malfoy. Always blonde, pale and slender.

It is interesting to note that Mr. Potter is dating Malfoy clones as consistently as Mr. Malfoy is dating Potter clones. Oh yes, it seems that the two team mates are dating already. Perhaps someone would like to tell them that."

Ron burst out laughing at the incredulous looks on their faces. "Those are the highlights," Ron said, folding up the paper and putting it into his locker. "The article just goes downhill from there."

Harry and Draco exchanged a knowing look, and Draco stopped Ron from closing the door. "Oh no you don't, weasel," Draco said as Harry retrieved the newspaper.

"Hmm," mused Harry, opening up the paper. "Let's see what they say about you, mate ...

Mr. Weasley, clearly in denial about his own sexuality, spent most of the interview admiring both his team mates' ... assets. Known for his frequent philandering with witches of all description, and even a few Muggle women, the ginger-haired Keeper has most recently been seen in the company of Miss Pansy Parkinson, a former classmate of the three. He has never been known to date anyone - wizard or Muggle - of the same sex, but he did a poor job of hiding his appreciation of his scantily-clad team mates this day. Perhaps the three men will 'get to know each other better' ... "

Harry stopped reading, as he lowered the paper, letting it fall to the floor.

"Oh. My. God," Draco said. He had gone, if possible, paler than usual.

"Bloody hell," said Ron.

"Yeah," Harry added.

Draco's day could not possibly get any worse. The nerve of that dim-witted reporter, insinuating that he was anything more than friends with Harry bloody Potter. How dare she even think such idiotic thoughts.

He poured himself a glass of wine and settled into his comfortable, dragon hide sofa. He looked around his home and smiled at the beautiful artwork and fabulously expensive furniture. The nosey woman had one thing right, he did have the best of everything, the best money could buy anyway. But as much as he was loath to admit it, she had another thing dead-on as well. Something in his life was lacking, but he'd never been able to put his finger on exactly what it was.

The foolish notion that it was Harry though ... how wrong could one possibly be? This was Potter. The man had terrible taste in everything from cuisine to holiday destinations, he enjoyed Muggle movie nights and wore jeans with holes in … holes in all the right places.

"No!" Draco all but shouted into the empty room. There was no way he was lusting after Hero Boy. He jumped up and grabbed his most recent photo album from the shelf. He thumbed through the photos of previous lovers, determined to prove that bint of a reporter wrong about his taste in men.

He smiled at a lovely picture of himself and Michael gazing out over the Mediterranean. Michael had been nothing like Harry. He was wealthy and funny and considerate and had … dark hair, but not nearly as dark as Harry's, and green eyes, but a completely different shade. Harry's eyes were a deep emerald that glistened when he laughed, and Michael didn't have the same tiny little laugh lines around his eyes and … oh, fuck.

Draco frantically flipped back a few pages to Justin and breathed a sigh of relief. Justin was much taller than Harry, and much more muscular. Harry still had his Seeker frame, thin and lithe, long and lean …

Again Draco flipped back, with a small flutter of panic in his chest. Guy, was ... no. John … no. Bill … fuck, the bint was right. Every one of them could easily pass for Harry from a distance. Draco stared at a photo of him and … what was his name again? Tim, yes, that was it. They were kissing on a park bench. Draco's left hand resting lightly on the other man's hip, the fingers of his right hand threading through Tim's wavy black hair. They looked beautiful together, and from this angle … you can't even tell it's not Harry.

Holy bloody hell, she was right. He was unwittingly obsessed with Harry Potter. Draco dropped the album next to him on the sofa and let his head fall into his hands. What in the hell am I going to do now?

Harry entered his flat somewhat dazed. The article was supposed to have been about the team and its chances at the upcoming World Cup. When would he ever learn? Except while under threat of exposure for illegal activity, no reporter had ever done a story about Harry without it becoming personal, full of conjecture, half-truths and often outright lies. Why had he expected this to be any different?

He supposed the tip-off should have been when the pictures had been taken of them wearing ... well, very little. Draco and Ron had thought it a fantastic idea, and had told him to stop being such a prude, and to just go along with it. He had reluctantly agreed.

He grabbed a beer from his fridge and lounged out on his well-worn sofa. He took a sip, closed his eyes and thought about the article, wondering just how much of it fell into the half-truth category and how much was pure fabrication. He did tend to date blondes, this was true, but as clones of Draco?! They had only recently got past being outwardly hostile to one another, and had become friends. The woman clearly had no idea what she was talking about. He took another sip of beer, shut his eyes again and thought back to his most recent relationship.

Phillippe came into view behind his lids. Harry had met him in France while on tour with the team, and had been instantly attracted. Tall, slender and gorgeous. He was rather aristocratic, with pointed features and light blue eyes - no, more like blue-grey. He had taken it upon himself to show Harry the finer places in Paris, and introduce him to some culture. Harry drifted off, recalling their visit to the Louvre.

They were walking through the gardens that led to the main structure, past the fountains, Phillippe looking scrumptious in his crisp white shirt, a hint of his snake tattoo peering from beneath the fabric ...

They were back at the hotel, Harry taken by surprise by the warm body suddenly pressed up against his back, comforted by the muscular arms wrapped around him, and aroused by the warm breath on his neck.

"I want you, Harry," came a husky voice.

"I want you too, Draco."

Harry awoke with a start as his beer bottle fell to the floor. "Shit!" he said as he scrambled to get his wand and clean up the mess.

As he sat down again, he recalled the face, the lips, the eyes of the man in his dream ... and the last words he said before he woke up.

"Well fuck me. Now how the hell am I supposed to face Draco tomorrow?"

Ron sighed heavily causing small fragments of ash and soot to flutter into the air and land in his hair. "Bugger. What a mess." Ginny had been the third firecall in the last hour. His Mum had been the first and George had been minutes later to tell Ron he'd be home late, then had added, "You know little bro ... I hear that Malfoy's a kinky little ponce. I've got a pair of handcuffs in my side drawer you can borrow."

Pulling his head out of the fireplace, Ron rose slowly to his feet and made his way to the bathroom in hopes that a nice hot shower would ease some of the tension in his neck.

A good hour later, Ron was clean, wrinkly, and still irritated. He decided there was only one thing left to do -- get really pissed and hope this whole thing would just blow over by morning. But, as he poured himself some Firewhisky, he couldn't help feeling an enormous sense of doom, and he shivered as goose bumps rose on his flesh.

"Hard day?" Ron froze, the glass just hovering before his lips, and he now understood the sudden feeling of uneasiness. With one swift gulp, he downed the liquid courage, set the glass on the counter, and slowly turned to face the person who was surely here to murder him.

When their eyes met, Ron gulped and smiled nervously. "Hey, my little flower. Thought you were going out with the girls tonight."

Pansy Parkinson was a force that Ron really had no business messing with. Unlike all the other women Ron had dated, Pansy was no war hero-worshipper, or Quidditch groupie. She couldn't care less about any of it, and Ron had practically begged on hands and knees to get her to finally agree to have tea with him.

"Weasley?" Oh shit, he was really in trouble. "Let's drop the cutesy pet name and get right to the point." When she dove her hand into the oversized bag hanging over her shoulder, Ron flinched, closed his eyes, and scrunched up his face in anticipation of the hex that was surely coming. "What in Merlin's name … oh Christ, Ron, I'm not going to hex you … yet."

His eyes flew open and saw the paper with him, Malfoy and Harry on the front cover, now lying on the counter. "You read it?"

"Yes, you idiot. I read it."

"Bit mad about it?"

"You could say that."

Ron felt a sting of panic and he rushed forward, snatching the paper and waving it in the air. "It's all a bunch of rubbish, every word … well not every word. That first part about me being fiery was true ... and what she said about my "hot assets," well that's true too … and, well it starts out fine, but the stuff about me looking at them, that's not. Pans, you know I'm not …I'd never."

It turned out that Pansy had had just about as bad a day as Ron. Her concern with the article had been less about the fact that it may be true and more about the fact that she was now seen as having something in common with Ginny. Like the fact that the man she'd been sleeping with suddenly decided he was interested less in breasts and more in bullocks.

Later as they lay in bed, now able to laugh about the whole thing, Pansy hummed and turned onto her side to face Ron, an evil smirk playing on her lips.

Ron frowned, knowing the look all too well. "What? What are you up to?"

"You know, there was actually some truth to the 'sexual tension' in that article."

"What? You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

"Not you. Potter and Draco."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut and rolled on to his back with a sigh. "Yeah, okay. So, I'm pretty sure Harry's got a thing for Malfoy. I catch him watching him a lot, with this goofy look on his face. Sickening, really."

"Ron, let me ask you something."

"Okay."

"Haven't you thought that their relationship was a little … intense? The way they were always at each other in school, the way Draco just wouldn't leave Potter alone."

Ron shrugged, "I guess. But we were all just a bunch of little brats back then; hell, it felt like all Hermione and I did was fight for a while there."

Pansy reached out and ran a hand through Ron's hair, causing his eyes to flutter shut. "Ron? Didn't you like Granger?"

"Mmmm, yeah. Drove me mad." Ron's eyes flew open. "Oh!"

"My darling Draco has been harbouring feelings for Potter, probably longer than any of us will ever know."

"That thing with the wand was ... "

"I know. I think they just need a friendly little nudge."

"Please, Harry will never do anything about it. I don't even think he realizes he has the hots for Malfoy. It's going to take more than a friendly nudge."

Pansy shifted closer, laying her head on Ron's bare chest, where he could feel her smile against his skin. "What about a big, green-eyed chest monster?"

2 Locker Room Heroics

It was all about getting through the next few hours. Project the cool, detached image he was so famous for, that's all Draco needed to do right now. And if he got there early enough, he wouldn't even have to do that. Harry was notoriously late. Draco could be dressed and ready to go onto the pitch before the other man even stepped foot into the locker room.

But then what? Could he honestly watch Harry fly around like… like… like the sexiest thing to ever wrap his legs around a broom? He sighed heavily and scrubbed at his face to stop himself from thinking about how those legs would feel wrapped around him.

"Yes, I can," he said resolutely into the mirror as he combed through his hair making sure it looked especially polished. "I'm a Chaser, and a damned good one. I'll just concentrate on scoring. Yes, that's it. I'll score like I've never done before."

"What you'd really like to score is a trip to the showers with that sexy man you keep mumbling on about," the mirror replied with a taunting giggle.

"Damn it to hell." That pesky mirror had never been able to keep its opinion to itself. He took a deep breath. He could do this. All he had to do was keep his eye on the Quaffle and off of... Harry's broomstick.

Harry awoke early with a headache and a hard-on. He had hardly slept all night; he kept waking up at particularly delicious points in some of the most fantastic dreams he had ever had. Damn that stupid woman and her stupid article! Now all he could think about was Draco. All he could see before his eyes was Draco: blonde hair begging to be threaded through Harry's fingers; grey eyes reflecting the lust and longing Harry felt; soft, pink lips begging to be kissed, and kissing Harry back, kissing Harry everywhere; and that body - that gorgeous body begging to be explored, marked, owned by Harry. His cock twitched in response. "Oh, don't you get started again!" he screamed at his erection, and stormed off to have a shower and take care of this latest development.

Freshly washed and dressed, and not in the mood for anything to eat, Harry left for the Quidditch pitch. It was still so early; he thought that maybe he could get in a little private flying time before the rest of the team got there. Yes, that was it. Work. It had nothing whatsoever to do with avoiding a certain sexy Chaser. Nothing at all.

Draco smirked when he entered the empty locker room. Just as he'd suspected, he was the first to arrive. He tossed his bag onto the floor next to his locker and began undressing quickly. He was just hanging his trousers on the hook when he heard the locker room door open. It was probably only Davies; he was almost always the first one to arrive. Draco didn't even bother turning around.

Excellent, Harry thought as he listened at the door to the locker room. No voices, no noise. He must be the first one here. Now all he had to do was get in there, get changed, and move his arse out to the pitch as quickly as possible. Without running into Draco. He could take the heat of missing the usual pre-game "pep talk" ... the coach's wrath had to be easier than facing -- ohmygod! As he rounded the corner, he had come face to face - well, no, face to arse - with the one person he was trying to avoid. Draco. What the hell was Draco doing stretching out like that, leaning into his locker, almost naked? Draco's arse... staring up at him... looking so good, so...

Harry let out an appreciative whimper, then quickly covered it with a loud and completely unconvincing cough. His face was red, he was sure, and he was thanking his lucky stars that wizards wore robes, because there was one defiant part of him that he really needed to get under control before facing anyone.

Draco's heart almost leaped out of his chest. He knew that cough and part of him wondered when in the hell he'd learned to distinguish Harry's cough from anyone else's. After taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm the dancing fairies in his stomach, he glanced casually over his shoulder.

"Well, Potter, what miracle has made it possible for you to be here on time for a change?"

Draco arched a curious brow when Harry didn't immediately spout out a comeback. The man looked like he'd just run a race with a Thestral and had won and... oh, fuck, he looked hot with his face all flushed like that. A thread of panic ran through him when he realised his cock was happily agreeing with him and he turned away quickly before Harry could see it in his expression. He could feel the other man staring at him and he was barely able to contain a shiver at the mere thought of Harry's eyes raking over his half-naked body. Slytherin's balls, this is going to be harder than I thought.

"I er... thought I could get in a little flying practice before the game, that's all," Harry said as he moved to his locker across from Draco's.

Draco pulled on his uniform trousers and tried desperately to convince his cock that this was not the time to come out and play, but it didn't seem to be working because all he could think of was the vision of a flushed, sweaty, panting Harry Potter.

Ron curled the tips of his fingers into the palms of his hands and pushed them further into his jacket pockets. He could feel the sweat, the slight twitching, the rapid flow of blood, and he clenched his fists tighter. Ron understood what he was supposed to do, he could even picture it in his head, but right now, his feet seemed spellotaped to the floor. They were both most likely in there right now; Pansy had been sure Malfoy would arrive early in an attempt to avoid Harry, and when Ron stopped by Harry's flat for breakfast as he often did on game day, he'd already gone.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on Pansy’s earlier instructions and encouragement. “You can do this, just do it quickly, don’t hesitate. You’ll need to go for the kill immediately, take him by surprise. Do it for Harry.” Right, for Harry. The bloody ignorant, oblivious git. This was all for Harry. Merlin, if he made it through this without getting hexed it was going to be a miracle. He could hear the laughter of Hugh, the Canons Beater, echoing down the empty hall and the heavy footsteps of what sounded like the rest of the team. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Ron ran a hand through his hair, “One... two... three... go! No, wait! Okay, this time for sure… one… two...” Ron licked his lips, placed a sweaty palm on the locker room door... "Three!"... and pushed.

He hesitated only a second as the door opened and he stepped through. However, once he spotted his target, Ron began his quick purposeful strides. Malfoy and Harry turned, and to Ron it was as if everything were in slow motion. The noisy sound of the others entering the room behind him faded, and his vision tunnelled. With every step, Malfoy’s face contorted and shifted. What had been a sneer when he first turned and spotted Ron, had changed quickly to question, then confusion, and as Ron reached out with both hands, digging his fingers into Malfoy’s bare shoulders, there was fear in his grey eyes. Suddenly time sped up again and he heard Harry gasp just as Ron yanked Malfoy’s body forward into his own, tilted his head to the side, and kissed the blonde prat with everything he had. It felt as though it went on for an eternity, a lifetime. Malfoy’s mouth was wet, soft, his lips pursed tightly in an attempt to prevent Ron’s tongue from slipping past them. He knew the only thing keeping Malfoy from shoving him away and blooding his nose, was that Malfoy was in shock. In his head Ron counted, just like Pansy had told him..."You’ll only have about six seconds, eight at the most, before he reacts."

Four. Merlin, six seconds was a long time. Five.

Malfoy’s taste was evident now, and Ron mentally shuddered at the realisation that he now knew the other man's unique flavour. Six. Ron pulled back with a gasp, still holding tight to Malfoy shoulders. His eyes were wide as saucers and Ron could just make out a flash of the fury that was building behind them. Quickly he released Malfoy and took a step back, wiping his mouth with the back of his large hand. “Mmmm, not bad, ferret.”

Behind him Ron heard Harry growl dangerously and was relieved when Malfoy’s eyes darted in his direction, leaving Ron a moment to collect himself. When he was met, mere seconds later, with Malfoy’s steely glare, Ron almost bolted from the room. Almost. “What the fuck, Weasley?”

Ron shrugged, hoping he looked calmer than he felt. "Just checking."

Malfoy’s lip curled up in a evil sneer, and he stepped forward, hands fisted against his thighs. “Weasley, I’m going…”

Whatever Malfoy was about to say was cut off, much to Ron’s relief, by the entrance of the team’s manager. Now all Ron had to do was avoid the other two until the next phase of Pansy’s plan. This was going to be an interesting match; he only hoped he would survive to see the end of it.

Fucking Weasley. What the hell does he think he's doing? Draco could hear the drone of the Manager giving his usual "win this one for the home team" speech, but all he could do was sit and glare at Weasley and think, What the fuck! Weasley was straight, there was no way in hell that ridiculous article had been right about him wanting to... no, Weasley was definitely straight. So what in Salazar's name was he playing at? This was the last thing on earth he wanted to deal with, although it had managed to soften his cock quite effectively.

He happened to glance at Harry and noticed his jaw was clenched tightly and he was glaring at Ron almost as fiercely as Draco was. Hmm, interesting.

"Okay, team! Let's get out there and win another one!"

The manager's voice, followed by a rush of players preparing to exit the locker rooms brought Draco out of his thoughts. Right. Game. Score. Win. Do. Not. Ogle. Harry's. Arse.

What the fuck is Ron up to, and what the hell did he mean by, "Just checking?" He's straight. He knows it, I know it, everybody knows it. With everything the media has printed about me in the past, you'd think he'd have got that they make things up by now! So what the fuck is he doing kissing MY Draco?!

Harry shook his head, wondering when he had decided that Draco was his. He wasn't. He didn't even like Harry. They were friends, that was all. The article was wrong about Ron, and it was wrong about Draco and...

Harry had to admit to himself that the article was right about him. And he was definitely hoping that it had been right about Draco, however unlikely that was. But could it have been right about Ron too? He glared at the other man. How dare he? If he were "just checking" he should have "just checked" with Harry first. Before just barging in and kissing Draco. At least Draco didn't look like he had enjoyed it. In fact, he had looked ready to hex Ron. Harry smiled inwardly at that thought, and chanced a look at Draco. He still looked irritated. Good.

"Okay, team! Let's get out there and win another one!" the Manager called, signalling the end of his speech.

Right. The game. Focus, Harry thought. The snitch. Must catch the snitch. Must not think about Draco ... naked Draco ... in my bed ... Shaking his head again, he left the locker room for the pitch.

Draco watched Harry rush out of the locker room like his robe was on fire and noticed Ron was watching him just as closely. He wasn't sure what it was, but something was definitely going on. He caught Ron's arm just as he was about to walk through the door. "Weasley, I don't know what in the hell you're playing at, but so help me—" Something about the look in the other man's eyes made him stop. Something that said, "Just trust me on this one, would you?"

"It wasn't that terrible, was it?" Ron asked cautiously.

Draco thought for a moment, trying to decide between truth and kindness. Neither had ever been particularly high on his list of priorities. "Weasley, that was quite possibly the worst kiss I've ever had."

Ron grinned as they headed off to the pitch together, secretly relieved by Malfoy's words.

3 It's a Sign