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Draco stared at the watch that had fallen out of Tristan’s rucksack as he had heaved it over his shoulder.

The watch had lain on the floor by the bed post for half an hour before he’d caved and floo-called Pansy in a tizz.

He remembered vaguely waving a half-hearted goodbye to his boyfriend as he’d stepped through the floo, but Tristan was in too much of a rush to really look back and see the shock and the panic on Draco’s face.

Pansy tapped a pointed Louboutin in either boredom or frustration, and then, without further ado, bent gracefully at the knees.

She picked the watch up and Draco gawped at her horrified. “Pansy!”

“Are you certain it’s not his?” she asked, fairly used to Draco’s indignant shrieks.

Yes, he was sure! He’d been seeing Tristan for almost a year. This was not a watch he would wear. It was a horrible brown leather atrocity. A muggle thing, with dates, and temperature gauges and what looked like a compass on it.

Tristan had a wizarding watch.

“I’m certain,” Draco stated, peering over Pansy’s shoulder.

Pansy peered at him through those enormous fake eyelashes she’d taken to wearing. “It doesn’t mean anything …”

Draco rolled his eyes and screwed up his mouth. “It means everything. I gave that man my heart and he … and he …” he couldn’t get his words out. He gestured at the watch instead.

“ … bought an ugly watch?”

“Pansy, it’s used. It’s someone’s. It’s the other man’s!”

“You have no proof of that!” Pansy held the watch out and then strapped it to her delicate wrist. It hung off her. “Woah, whoever’s it is has really thick wrists.”

“FUCK!” Draco grated, sitting on his bed. He was imagining some beefy lothario holding his gorgeous Tristan in his arms.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Tristan adores you. I’m sure it’s just a mix-up.”

Draco eyed her, slowly withdrawing his hands from his face. “What are you doing?”

“Beg pardon?” Pansy asked, placing the watch on his dressing table.

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “You’re being nice … You’re being empathetic and reasonable. What’s going on?”

Pansy made a noise and turned her back. “I’m always nice …” She picked up an ornate silver hairbrush that had belonged to his grandmother and fingered it delicately with her scarlet nails.

“What a load of shit … what’s wrong with you?”

“Fuck you, you little toad. I am nice!”

Draco smiled and crossed his arms.

Pansy collapsed into the velvet chair that accompanied the table and rolled her eyes. “My mind healer suggested I try to use more empathy on a regular basis - it’s supposed to help with my anxiety.”

Draco laughed. Pansy snarled.

“Sorry, darling. Good for you, but could you practice elsewhere? I need the real Pansy.”

Pansy’s face screwed up into the puggy face of their childhood. “Fine, Tristan’s definitely fucking some huge colosuss, who’s probably got a massive nob, according to his wrist size.”

Draco’s head fell back and his throat felt numb. He blinked back tears. Oh gods, he knew it.

He swallowed and rubbed his chest. Shit, it had been going so well. He finally thought he was with someone who loved him.

They’d said it. They’d said the words, together. They rubbed noses and grinned at each other.

It had been beautiful, and sweet and full of laughter. There had been gifts and meals cooked and back rubs and incredible blow jobs and lots of glorious sex. There had been holding of hands and secrets exchanged. Birthday parties, dinner parties and shared looks. Cheering of each other's achievements. Friends had been introduced and been accepting. In-jokes and cuddles on a sunday night. Hilarious stories and gossiping.

Draco screamed with rage. “Fucking hell,” he said miserably.

Pansy looked contrite. “I’m sorry, babes.”

Draco wiped his eyes.

“I have to know,” he got up and walked towards the fire, throwing in a sprinkle of floo powder he spoke Tristan's address.

~

Harry had been for a run. His dog, Eric, was panting on the floor next to him. Relishing in the cool ceramic tiles that he was lying on in the kitchen of his house. He smiled down at him. “I finally knackered you out, mate.”

Eric was a Rhodesian Ridgeback, he was a lovely russet colour and bit of a prat. He had howled for the first three weeks when Harry had first bought him home. That’s why he now slept in Harry’s bed.

Harry had a quick shower and was about to eat some breakfast when Hermione walked through his floo.

“Hey!” he said, feeling a little bit surprised.

Eric barked loudly and stood up on his hind legs, paws on her shoulder, as she batted him away, trying to tell him to get down. Her speech was impeded by the fact that Eric was licking her face. Quite enthusiastically.

Harry pulled the big dog down and Hermione scourgified herself vigorously. “Ew, gods, Harry. That was disgusting. Yes, hello, Eric. Get off.”

“Why are you … how come …?” Harry tried not to be rude but he could never get the hang of it.

Hermione smiled at his attempt at pleasantries, but she was used to it after fifteen years. “Why am I here?”

“Yeah.” He pulled a silly face and gestured at the kettle. Tea always sorted things out.

“I’m okay, thanks,” she said, declining his offer. She then struggled for a moment and held on to one of the kitchen chairs, whilst Eric stared up at her adoringly, his tail swiping the floor like a metronome. “Err, you’re seeing someone, right?”

Harry jumped slightly. He turned towards her frowning.

“Yeah,” he said. He shouldn’t be surprised. She'd always known him better than anyone else. It didn’t matter that he’d kept it quiet, was super careful and hadn’t even glanced in the direction of the guy he was sleeping with. She always knew.

“Harry, I’m sorry but …” Eric barked, startling her. He wanted attention.

Harry frowned at the dog and started to get a funny feeling. It had been a while since his last relationship. He’d kept that one as quiet as he could, but sneaking around seeing Charlie Weasley three times a year was hardly a relationship anyway. They’d written and floo called each other, but Harry’s quidditch career and Charlie's own work was more important - to each of them. The timing was off, whatever you’d call it. They’d tried for two years and then called it off.

Starting something new has taken a lot of nerve. Harry hated starting relationships. Especially as he hadn’t officially come out. Hermione had told him to just ‘rip the plaster off’ but the press didn't deserve a thing. He hated the fucking press. Refused to read the Prophet or Witch Weekly or whatever.

And this guy had sort of crept up on him. They’d chatted at dinner. Both quidditch players, both lonely, it had been nice just making a new friend.

Harry could admit that he’d been romanced. It had felt good. Three weeks of flirty chatting and then the night before last, they’d finally shagged. It had been awesome.

“What are you sorry about?” he asked, feeling his stomach drop.

“If it’s who I think it is - he’s in a relationship.” Hermione looked at Harry sadly.

Harry huffed a laugh. “No he’s not. You don’t even know who it is!”

“You met him at the charity dinner, right?”

Harry swallowed. Hermione was never wrong. Ever.

He tried to rein in his temper. He hated fucking liars and he hated cheating.

He moved towards his floor and wandlessly threw some powder in the fire.

“Harry, just talk to me, please …”

He barked out Tristan’s address. He had to know.

Harry pulled away as the back of Draco Malfoy’s head came into view in the flames. “ … I will not get off my knees, I want to know for certain!”

“Malfoy?” Harry waited and sure enough, Draco Malfoy turned to face him with a look of utter shock on his face.

“Potter?”

“I wasn’t calling you …” Harry stated feeling very confused. “I was calling Tr–”

“Harry!” Hermione screeched as she tried to drag him away. “Maybe try him later, yeah? I think the lines have got crossed. You must have tried to call him at the same time. I heard that can happen sometimes - weird phenomenon … probably best to just cut the call.”

Harry frowned at her.

“Potter, why are you calling Tristan?”

Harry turned back to the fire, Malfoy had a brow arched.

“None of your business, why are you calling him?”

“Oh god,” Hermione uttered at exactly the same time as someone in the background of Malfoy’s call.

“Who’s with you? Is Tristan there - I need to talk to him.”

Harry suddenly thought, fuck this. “I’m coming through.”

“What!” Malfoy squawked.

Harry sent Eric to his bed on the floor of the kitchen and turned towards the floo.

“I have wards, Potter …” Malfoy stated looking at him with outrage.

“Drop them.” Harry commanded. Hermione was still clinging to his arm.

“Harry, just wait! Please …” she urged, tugging him back. He pulled her along. It wasn’t so easy to hold him these days. He wasn’t a gangly underfed kid anymore.

They both arrived in Malfoy’s bedroom. Malfoy was picking himself up off the floor, wand in his hand. Parkinson waved from a chair by a dressing table, she was holding Harry’s favourite watch.

“Why do you have my watch?” Harry asked.

Malfoy lamped him.

~

Draco could admit, even in that moment, that it wasn’t a particularly good punch. Mainly for the fact that he’d hadn’t tried to punch someone since he was about fifteen.

Potter’s face was still punchable, obviously. But, these days, his jaw was like granite. Draco waggled his hand in pain, sucking in a breath as he held it between his thighs.

“Ow,” he grated, wishing he had a different life.

Potter stared down at him, the usual frown marring his face.

Gone was the Potter of Draco’s youth. This idiot was huge.

Skeeter had done the most masterful job of explaining Potter’s long delayed bloom of manhood. She’d got in real experts, the Prophet had paid galleons for the exposé. They’d even done a comparison piece, with side by side pictures of his father, James Potter who’d been about six foot two and had stocky shoulders towards the end of his late teens.

After the war, Potter grew six inches in height and bulked up exponentially. Skeeter had revealed that it was because he’d had a malnourished childhood and a dirty great piece of Voldemort's soul in him, poor sod. Magic had done the rest.

Potter was currently the Wimborne Wasps star beater. He spoke to no press, growled in matches and had left his hero status way behind. He was famed these days for his aggression and bullheaded nature. He was moody, uncaring and a bit of a shit, truth be told.

“Did you just fucking punch me?” the arsehole asked.

Draco could have screamed with rage. “You’re not even gay!”

Potter frowned. He looked at Granger who was shaking her head.

“I tried to tell you, Harry.”

Potter looked back at Draco and huffed out a laugh. He put his hands on his hips. “You're with … that's why you have my … fucksake. How long have you been with Tristan?”

Draco gaped at him. “A year! Don’t you read the fucking paper?”

Potter just looked at him.

“No, he doesn’t. I swear, Draco. He didn’t know!” Hermione pleaded.

“Bollocks, he knew … Why, Potter? Why can’t you just fuck off. Oh my god, I was happy for fucking once. And you had to ruin it.”

Potter continued to stare.

“What was it, a test? Just trying it on for size? What do you think? Not for you, right? Prefer the speckled breasts of one very famous ex-chaser?”

“Draco …” urged Pansy.

Draco put a hand up to silence her. “Don’t worry, Pans - he’s not bothered. Nothing gets to you anymore, does it, Potter? He’s stoic …” Draco imitated Potter’s stance. Hand on his hips, legs wide apart. Draco lowered his voice. “He’s manly, look at his beard, for Merlin’s sake. He’s tough. He’s gay in a straight way, right? Tristan's pretty - he could pass for a girl. Just turn the l-l-lights off …”

Draco lost his thread thinking about the pair of them fucking. Tears started to fall out of his eyes and he wiped them away aggressively. He hated crying. Fuck.

“Can you just calm down? I didn’t know …” Potter said gruffly.

“Look, time-out, I think we need a drink or something. And to talk about this rationally. Neither of you are at fault here. There’s only one person who held all the cards … you’re both angry at the wrong person,” Hermione said sensibly.

Draco hated her.

“Exactly,” Pansy stated standing up and walking towards Hermione, she smiled down at the shorter witch. The fucking traitor. “Let’s head down to the kitchen and have a drink. We need to sort this out like adults.”

Draco gaped at the witches and was suddenly glad he hadn’t given Pansy back that Gucci overcoat he’d borrowed.

Hermione looked up at Pansy, blinking and taking in a sharp breath. “Yes, that’s right.” She pulled herself together and nodded at Potter.

He sighed and nodded back.

“Righty-ho! Lets head to the fucking kitchen,” Draco huffed, barging past them out his bedroom door.

~

Harry sat at Malfoy’s breakfast table. It was in something called the Orangery which was posh speak for a conservatory. It had plants by the large windows that all grew up towards the domed ceiling. He was sitting on a wicker chair, with big fluffy cushions under his bum.

They were drinking wine. The three of them. It was ten-thirty in the morning. Harry had a cup of tea. He didn’t drink anymore. Alcohol wasn’t a good idea for Harry. It had made everything ten times worse.

He was pretty sure he was now addicted to sugar instead. “Do you have any biscuits?”

Malfoy huffed and accio’d a tin. Harry opened it and was pleased to see a good assortment. He inhaled a chocolate hobnob and instantly felt a bit better.

It all sucked. Fucking Tristan St James. What a twat.

St James was a chaser for Puddlemere. The league below Harry's. He was American. Good looking. Had that blue eyes, dirty-blonde hair combo. Wore fucking chinos and pink shirts. He was funny, looked at you like the sun shone out of your arse. Obviously, it was all bollocks.

Harry sighed. It didn’t matter. It was always the same. Disappointment.

“Well, I for one, am raging …” Parkinson uttered, surreptitiously checking out Hermione’s cleavage.

“Yes, me too. How can people do this? I hate cheaters …”

Parkinson bit her lip as Hermione's chest rose with indignity. Harry rolled his eyes and glanced across at Malfoy instead. He looked as miserable as Harry felt.

Harry had swiped his watch on the way out of Malfoy’s bedroom. He adjusted it and wished he hadn’t when Malfoy’s eyes caught the motion and a blistering look of pain fell over his face.

“Yes, well … you can all go about your lives. As far as I am concerned, Potter can have him,” Malfoy stated, looking wretched.

“I don’t want him!” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bloke’s a fucking twat as far as I’m concerned.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Wonderful to hear your magnanimous opinion as usual, Potter. We are all very grateful for your wise words.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said.

Malfoy shook his head. “Why are you … ugh! You’re not even gay!” he repeated.

Harry grabbed another biscuit. “You know what’s weird, Malfoy. The fact you don’t know everything. Because, it looks a bit like I fucking am, doesn’t it?” he grated with gritted teeth.

Malfoy leaned forward, totally unafraid. “Since when, you hulking troll?”

“Since when? Umm, since yesterday, just a spontaneous decision. I thought, why not suck a dick … Are you stupid?” Harry rammed the hobnob in his mouth.

“Harry …” Hermione urged.

“It probably was, knowing you. ‘I know who I’ll try and fuck. The love of Draco’s life.’”

“Draco …” Pansy tried.

“Fuck YOU” Harry roared “… since when do I even give that much of a shit about you?”

Malfoy stood up. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” he said quietly.

Harry laughed. Totally unperturbed. “Would like to see you try, dickhead.”

Pansy grabbed Malfoy before he tried to launch himself at Harry.

Harry laughed harder. “That’s it Parkinson, hold him tight. He might try and ‘kill’ me!”

Hermione hit Harry around the back of the head. “Stop baiting him! Honestly, Harry.”

Harry rubbed his head and frowned at her. “What? I didn’t do anything!”

“He’s heartbroken … Gods, Harry, you still can’t read anyone.”

“Let me go!” Draco howled. He did look a bit upset, now Harry thought about it.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I … look, I'm just as angry as you are.”

Draco slumped in a chair as Pansy rubbed his back. He had his head in his hands.

“The girls are right.”

Both ‘girls’ narrowed their eyes.

“I mean, the witches. The women?”

Harry tried again. “I just meant that this isn’t me or you this time, right? It was him.”

He got a muffled response. But at least the prick wasn’t trying to attack him anymore.

Harry sipped his tea. He frowned when he realised it was exactly how he liked it.

He rubbed his face and sighed. It had been nice with Tristan. Nice getting to know him and laughing with him. Harry had got caught up with the beginnings of the relationship. He could just imagine how Draco had felt, having him for a whole year. The guy was good. He made you feel like the only person in the room.

If Harry was angry and hurt, Malfoy must feel like hot dogshit.

“We should fuck him up …” he muttered.

Malfoy looked up with red eyes. “How?”

Hermione smiled. “Revenge, obviously.”

Parkinson's eyes gleamed like diamonds; she licked her bottom lip and clinked her glass with Hermione’s. “Immediate yes,” she drawled with a smirk.

~

Two bottles of Malbec in, Draco had thought that confronting Tristan had been a brilliant idea. They’d all been sitting around the table and Draco had been hilarious and clever, even making the ever stoic Potter smile with how he would ‘handle’ that rat bastard. He’d monologued for a little while. Pansy had been in fits and Granger had snorted like a piglet for almost fifteen minutes.

Granger had insisted on a sober-up potion before Plan: Fuck Tristan-Up was initiated.

Now he was no longer drunk, this was a fucking awful idea and he wanted to go home.

Tristan was meant to be at a training session. Well, that’s what he’d told Draco. He’d informed Potter he was having dinner with his parents. Alarm bells had rung around Draco’s breakfast table and Pansy had decreed that he was obviously fucking a third person.

Potter’s anger rumbled and a pane of glass cracked. He tightened his fists and declared he was definitely up for The Plan.

The large Wasps beater still looked up for The Plan as they entered the posh muggle restaurant.

Draco was feeling uneasy. He didn’t do too many muggle things. He was still very frightened of muggle stuff. Not because he still believed they lived in rat-infested hovels and fucked their cousins - firstly the hypocrisy (regarding cousin fucking) and secondly, he’d let go of many prejudices since his disastrous term of being a Death Eater.

It was just that there were so many of them.

And they were very self assured and intimidating.

The only thing he liked about muggle culture was their clothing. Especially Armani.

Potter frowned at Draco as he accidentally leaned closer as they strolled along. Draco immediately moved back and nearly bumped into a waitress holding a tray filled with dirty plates - she must be so strong. He gave the waitress an apologetic smile and tried to keep up with Potter.

He was so tall. Draco was tall enough but Potter was now Greg’s height. With huge shoulders to boot. Draco wrinkled his nose.

It was a shame, in school Potter had been a rather small and lovely little urchin. Now he was huge and gross.

Granger had actually scryed to find Tristan. Now, that was some dark shit. His mother used to scry, that woman had killed a fair few chickens in her day.

Granger did it with a cauliflower - she was vegetarian, apparently.

She’d poked through the murdered florets and cast several spells in the exact same way as his mother had used to. Pansy licked her lips and was looking at Granger like she was an erotic dancer at Leashed Bitches - that muggle gay club she'd taken him to.

Draco guessed Granger's Birkenstocks and unpainted toenails were really doing it for Pansy. The pair had decided to ‘leave this one to the boys’ and had said they’d hold down the fort as they wafted them out of Draco’s own home.

He was fairly sure he was going to have to onboard a new best-friend. The one he had was clearly defective.

“There he is,” Potter said quietly.

Draco closed his eyes, and grabbed Potter’s arm. He wished with all his heart. Please don’t be on a date. Please don’t be on a date. Please don’t be on a date.

He couldn’t look. “Is he with his parents?”

“Not unless his parents are a really young twink with a nose ring.”

Draco opened his eyes and peered over Potter’s shoulder. “That bitch!”

Tristan was sitting opposite a very pretty eighteen year old. The boy was at least ten years younger than him. Draco felt his heart crack again.

How often had this happened? The whole time? Had he done this when they’d had dinner parties, laughing with friends. Had he been screwing other people for their whole relationship. Was Draco not enough? They had sex all the time.

This was unfathomable to Draco. It didn’t make sense.

They’d talked about infidelity recently. Draco had just finished a piece with Kasia Krum, Viktor’s ex-wife. The Prophet had to re-print three times, they kept selling out of papers. He’d talked with her for about four hours, and written a compelling honest account of everything she had been through. Kasia had opened up about how she’d felt so stupid not knowing about all of her ex-husband's affairs. How it had been so obvious but she’d loved him and had lapped up the excuses.

Kasia had liked the piece, she said Draco had really found her voice and not victimised her, which was her main concern.

Tristan had agreed with Draco that Viktor was the absolute worst, and that he, Tristan, would ensure that the next time they played against each other, he wouldn’t even talk to the bastard, because he was scum.

That’s what he’d said.

Potter was still walking towards Tristan and his date. Oh gods. Draco had to get out here. He felt faint.

“Hey,” Potter said casually, standing right next to Tristan.

Tristan blinked and looked extremely pale, he suddenly saw Draco and his eyes bugged out of his head.

“I, er … hey, both of you. W-what are you doing here?”

“Hi, I’m Toby …” said the child sitting across from him. He was very stupid.

Draco’s everything hurt.

He was definitely going to cry. Or vomit. Or both.

Potter studied Draco for a moment, and sighed.

He cleared his throat. “So, you’re a prick by all accounts, that’s in a relationship with my friend here.” Potter tapped the hand that Draco still had wrapped around his bicep.

If he let go he’d fall over.

“Well, umm - look, it’s winding down, Harry.”

Draco choked on his own spit. “What?”

Tristan winced. “Right? We both felt it. It was fading whatever we had …”

“No it wasn’t,” Draco whined.

“Yeah, it was, babe. It was almost over …”

Draco was blinking back tears and trying to hold it together. He tasted metal in his mouth and was very aware that the restaurant was spinning.

Potter huffed another laugh. “Fucking hell, you’re cold. Who’s this?” he gestured at the teenager.

“I’m Toby.” He smiled, waving his fork. The boy was still fucking eating.

“This isn’t a date!” Tristan smiled reassuringly.

Toby frowned. “Oh, isn’t it? I hope I’m not paying … I thought the blowjob would ensure I’d at least get dinner.”

Tristan blinked.

Potter leaned down so he was really close to Tristan's face, Draco went with him because he was holding on by the skin of his teeth. “Do not come near me again. You’re a liar and a cheat. I’ll knock your teeth out if you even breathe the same air as me.”

“Err …” Tristan managed as Potter stood up to his true height.

Draco was dissociating.

It was nice to watch Potter threaten someone other than him. Merlin, he was much more scary when he was being horrible to someone else. Even the muggles could feel the magic that was seeping out of him. They were staring over in horror.

If Potter had threatened Draco like that, he probably would have shit his pants.

They were walking away. Potter had turned abruptly and was hauling them towards the doors with long strides. Draco was crying. Tears were running down his cheeks. He needed air.

“Almost there,” muttered Potter, tapping the hand he was holding against his arm.

They reached the exit and Draco gulped down the fresh air, he then threw up against a wall. Distantly, he was aware of Potter’s hand on his back.

“I need to go home,” he whined, wiping his mouth.

“Okay, let’s go to this alley. I’ll get you home,” Potter said quietly.

~

It was like being back at school. Malfoy’s head was lying in Pansy’s lap and she was stroking his hair. He didn’t look smug though, he looked awful.

Hermione had been right, Malfoy was heartbroken. Harry had heard the hope in his voice when they’d been in the restaurant. Malfoy hoped St James was with his parents. He may have even taken the slimy fucker back. Even though he knew he’d been with Harry. Because he had hope. For love.

Harry had given up. If he had a nice-ish time that was enough. He certainly wasn’t looking for love. That ship had sailed.

Even his best friends couldn’t make it work. Ron had moved to Canada, he was playing in their quidditch leagues. George had opened a shop over there. Harry visited sometimes, they sent letters and floo-called, but it wasn’t the same. Ron and Hermione had stuck it out for three years before they’d called it quits. It was longer than Harry and Ginny lasted.

Six months after the war, Ginny had kicked him in the nuts and told him to mope somewhere else. She was good like that.

“I think we should go,” Hermione said, putting down her coffee. She jerked her head at Harry and they both got up.

“Wait. We need to do something …” Pansy hissed. “This isn’t okay, that fucker needs to pay.”

Harry pulled a face. “He has paid. I threatened the crap out of him. He’ll move on.”

Pansy’s eyes searched Hermione’s. He watched them have a silent conversation.

“Let’s go for dinner tomorrow, a nice Sunday lunch … I know somewhere. We’ll sleep on it and then make a new plan.”

Harry blinked and glared at his best friend. “What? No - I’ve got training.”

“In the morning. We’ll go late afternoon.” Hermione gave him that look. The ‘I’ve said’ look.

He sighed and followed her out of the floo. He didn’t want to plan. Fucksake.

~

Harry was whacking bludgers at the target set up. His arm was going numb but he kept going. Martha was matching him, they had it down to the beat of Whippin’ Picadilly by Gomez.

Martha was singing the words as she belted her bludgers. “Played a bit of football, fell into the union, barged our way to the toilet.”

Harry snorted as he kept the beat. Martha was a twat. She grinned as she hit the next bludger behind her back. Harry put a hand over his eyes and whacked the next one.

Eventually he made his way to the showers and Martha switched to singing something else. She went to muggle gigs all the time. Harry joined her sometimes but three’s a crowd and her chap, Ezra, was a bit boring. Plus, he liked to talk about the war and Harry did not.

He dressed quickly and waved goodbye to half the team, nodding his thanks to the coach who was in a serious conversation with Marcus Flint about something or other. Flint was alright these days. Less of a prick now he was in his thirties and still an excellent chaser.

Harry headed home and took Eric on a big walk, letting him off the lead around the park and throwing the rugby ball he liked to bound after. Harry accidentally threw it at a weird angle and Eric jumped a park bench to get it. The little old lady who’d been quietly sitting there, wobbled her fist at him.

“Sorry!” Harry called with a wince. They headed home and Harry changed his shoes to his more formal boots and splashed a bit of Paco Rabanne on his throat.

Harry sighed and thought about sending Hermione an “I’m feeling a bit peaky” patronus. It was no use. She'd definitely come and get him. He apparated to her favourite riverside pub in Oxford. He jogged around the side of the building and walked up the steps. He was starving and the food here was amazing.

Pansy and Hermione were in a conversation at the bar and Malfoy was sitting at a table by the window looking miserable as he gazed forlornly at the river. Fucking hell.

What was he doing here? Malfoy was bloody Malfoy, and even worse he was now a journalist. Which Harry detested. The guy could have been anything he wanted. And he chose writing for a piece of crap paper. And now Harry was wrapped up in his life for some unknown reason. Probably because Hermione wanted to bone Parkinson.

He cleared his throat and sat down. “Hello,” he said.

Malfoy sat up. “Hello.”

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked politely, pouring himself a water.

“Like hot dog shit. You?”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Not too bad, ta.”

Malfoy was wearing a suit. He looked good in muggle clothes. He always did wear nice crap. Harry was in jeans and a decent shirt he kept in his locker, just in case.

“Thanks for … yesterday.”

Harry glanced up. Malfoy was looking back out the window, but he’d said it. He continued, catching Harry’s eye for a second. “I know I was useless, I felt frozen.”

Harry shrugged. “It was different. You were really together. I was just the … bit on the side. I wasn’t as invested.”

It was quiet for a bit. He sipped his water.

“I can’t believe you like boys …” Malfoy smirked.

Harry spat his water on the table.

Malfoy laughed.

Harry wiped himself and the table. “Any need for that outburst?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Especially if it gets that reaction.”

Harry sighed. Fucksake.

“Why aren’t you out?” Malfoy asked, leaning on his hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry growled whilst he mopped up the water. This was when you wished you were in a wixen establishment.

“What? You think I’d out you? I wouldn’t! I swear on the holy Elton John!”

Harry snorted.

“Why though?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. “It’s no one’s fucking business.”

Malfoy nodded. “True.”

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said plopping into the adjacent seat. She’d bought him a pint of diet coke, the little blinder.

Parkinson put a bottle of red on the table and handed out the glasses.

“Hey. Alright, Pansy?”

“Good afternoon, Potty.” She smiled.

The waiter headed over and flirted with Malfoy for a while whilst Harry quickly decided what he wanted.

“Well, it all seems simple to me,” Pansy declared when the waiter had walked away with their order. “You need to do a spot of fake dating.”

Harry frowned.

Draco gaped at her in horror. “With him?” He jerked his thumb in Harry’s direction. “He’s not even my type.”

“Anymore,” Pansy added quietly with a sip of wine.

“Why would we ‘fake date’?” Harry asked genuinely. Seemed an odd response.

“Because, Draco needs to save face. Tristan has done the unthinkable and it will devastate his reputation and send him back to the dark days …”

Draco opened his mouth and held his throat. “Oh my god, it will!”

“And you need saving, oh Saviour,” Pansy continued. “Mainly from yourself and all the horrendous choices you make.”

“Hey! My life is fine, thank you …”

Pansy arched a brow. “Is it? You’re constantly in a bad mood. You like only one part of your job, you can’t handle the press or any media attention - which gives you grinding headaches …”

Harry glared at Hermione who was focusing heavily on the tines of the fork she was holding up.

“You can’t even be your true self because you don’t want people to know about you. You’re lonely …”

“I’m not lonely, I just hate people …” he growled. He wasn’t some fucking sad sack he just thought that people were bellends.

“Harry, you hate your life. You ended up seeing someone who was already in a relationship because you bury your head and don’t want to be part of our community,” Hermione said gently.

Harry balled up his serviette and threw it at the table.

“And, how will fake dating this floppy idiot make it better?” he asked them both.

Malfoy was sitting back in his chair assessing Harry. “Oh yes, I see it. This will work very nicely. Gosh yes, you’re very good, aren’t you?”

Hermione and Pansy tapped their wine together and smiled.

Harry frowned. “What? What do you see?”

Malfoy smiled and reached across to pat his hand. “We’ll start with something light, shall we? I’ll interview you.”

Harry pulled his hand back. “You fucking won’t!”

~

Draco was feeling fairly impressed with himself.

He was utterly heartbroken but had managed to get an exclusive tell-all, promised double-page spread with the elusive Harry Potter.

Basil, his boss, was absolutely ecstatic.

Skeeter on the other hand wanted to claw his fucking eyes out, and she’d already heard he’d split up with Tristan, but she didn’t know why, yet - thank fuck.

Potter had finally read the piece Draco had lovingly written for Ginny’s early retirement and subsequent move from the limelight. How her love for Dean and the idyllic life in Bournemouth they had cultivated was all she had ever wanted.

“You wrote this?” he had asked, his huge bonce shoved into the fireplace during an impromptu (and impertinent) floo call. He had rattled the paper he was holding. “About Ginny?” The surprise in his voice was worth the spontaneous interruption to his evening plan of crying and eating a family bag of cheesy Wotsits.

After that, Potter had agreed to the interview. But only after Draco could guarantee that Potter was one hundred percent in charge and could veto whatever the hell he wanted.

Draco had concurred, not that he had a choice. But, Potter was stupid, it would be fine.

Tristan, on the other hand, was not returning his calls (but he had returned all of the things Draco had left as his flat in Fulham, bastard).

The plan was that they (Potter and himself) would fall hopelessly in lust during the interview, go on some dates, Draco would coach Potter on how to live with the media and Potter would make sure that Draco’s reputation didn’t fall back into the gutter.

Thus ensuring Draco’s failed relationship with Trisan would be yesterday's fish and chip liners.

He arrived at Potter’s residence right on time. Potter opened the door with bare feet. Odious troll. Although they were fairly nice feet for such a yeti.

“Alright?” he asked as he invited Draco in.

“Yes, I’m … oof,” said Draco as some beast pushed him into the wall.

“Eric, get down!”

Eric did not want to get down. Apparently, snogging Potter’s pet was on the menu this morning. Draco tried to push the huge canine away but the thing was heavy and just didn’t seem to want to leave Draco just yet.

Draco gave up and was fairly relieved when Potter managed to drag the dog away.

The dog was huge but a right softy. Draco had seen various images of Potter with his dog, so it wasn’t a complete surprise. Although he could have done without the licky kisses.

“Merlin!” Draco exclaimed, scourgifying his whole face and clothing. The dog was looking forlorn and getting quite the bollocking off his owner.

“... that was too much, Eric. You sit down and stay there, now. You’ve lost your door privileges.”

“Not his door privileges!” Draco quipped, giving the dog a pat as he wandered past.

“Malfoy!” Potter grumbled. “Now you’ve just undermined everything I've said.”

Draco was utilising his own door privileges by opening the ones he passed and having a nose at Potter’s house. The downstairs loo was dreadful, but the lounge was nice, big windows and comfy sofas. It was quite a fancy place, in a wizarding village not far from Dorset, nice and close to the Wasps grounds.

“Let me be the first to tell you,” Draco mused as he headed into the kitchen. “Dogs can’t speak ‘human’. He doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Har har, Nob-end.”

Draco was about to take off his coat but Potter told him to leave it on as they were going ‘out the back’. Eric was given a big dreadful looking treat and wagged his tail as Potter said goodbye.

After Potter shoved his feet into some trainers, they ambled down the path through the back garden and opened the gate to find a driveway.

In the driveway was a black car.

Draco hated cars.

“I’m not getting in that,” he uttered with horror.

“That is a two litre, 1978, Ford Capri - she’s a fucking beauty and you told me to be comfortable. I’m comfortable when I’m driving.”

Damn, he did say that.

Potter smirked at him and got in the car. Draco poked the handle and nothing happened.

“I can’t get in,” Draco said, bending down so Potter could see him through the window.

Potter rolled his eyes and leant across and did something. The door opened.

Draco got in and pulled the door shut. The seat was quite comfy. Potter did something to make the car mad and it made a huge noise.

“Waaah, what did you do?” Draco asked, searching the car for danger. It sounded like the rumble of a dragon.

“Fucking hell,” Potter muttered.

He ignored Draco’s sputtering and began to drive the car backwards for a moment, before waggling a stick by the front seat and driving the stupid car forwards down the country lanes.

After a while, when everything was pretty safe, Draco started pressing buttons and messing with things. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling at a clippy thing from behind his head.

“Seatbelt, it's a safety feature for muggles. You draw it across your body and put it in this bit,” he added pointing to another odd thing by Draco’s hip.

“Why aren’t we using it?”

“Because we can cast if we crash,” Potter said, waggling the stick again. He stopped at some traffic lights.

Draco drew the belt across him and it made a satisfying click when it went into the jabby bit.

Potter rolled his eyes and played some music. He slipped a tape in the machine and The Kooks came on. Greg liked muggle music. He played it in his bar.

“Oh, I know this one. It’s about him not being from Nebraska.”

Potter laughed. “No it’s not, he doesn’t say anything about not being from Nebraska!”

“Yes it does! Listen … ‘I know, she knows, I’m not from Nebraska’.”

Potter was almost crying. He was making a wheezy sound and was struggling to drive the car.

“He’s not saying that, you bellend!” Potter said, wiping his eyes. “He’s singing, I’m not FOND of asking.”

Draco laughed too. “Is he? Fuck, I’ve been singing that for ages.”

Potter grinned at him.

“When did you learn to drive?” asked Draco as Potter pulled onto a faster road.

“When Ginny kicked me out?” he frowned, remembering. “Maybe the winter after the war. My aunt gave me some photo albums and there were a few pictures of my mum passing her test. She had a red one of these.” Potter tapped the wheel he was holding.

“The same car?”

“Yeah,” Potter smiled over at Draco. “It was mad, after the war, Petunia was just different. Even Dudley, my cousin, was. They were just … easier. I mean, don’t get me wrong - they didn’t change, per se, but they just tried to be more helpful. It was Dudley who taught me how to drive. He shouldn’t have, because he was the same age as me - think you’re supposed to be twenty-one or something, but he sat for ages in the car with me, teaching me to parallel park and reverse around a corner.”

“Quite the turnaround for them - they weren’t a good family to live with, if I remember?”

Potter snorted. “God no, it wasn’t great. But I don’t want to think about it. I see Dudley every so often for a pint, and his mum sends me something on my birthday. That fat fuck Vernon can go to hell, for all I care but, you know …” He shrugged.

“I suppose it’s nice to have something in common with your mum?” Draco asked, spotting a gulp of swallows far away in the blue sky. He pointed them out and Potter moved his head to see.

“Yeah, cos I have quidditch in common with my Dad.”

“Do you think he would have played seeker as a profession?”

“Nah, he got big like me. I really don’t know if he would have played professionally or not.” Potter glanced at Draco a few times before he continued. “He was bisexual though, like me.”

“Interesting, a genetic trait?”

Potter scoffed. “People say it’s just because we’re greedy, right?”

“What, you and your dad or bisexuals?”

“Both? Neither? I don’t know. I just knew he was into a few lads before my mum.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “Pretty par for the course with the wixen community. They didn’t label it back then though. I don’t particularly envy you. Too much choice is … daunting.”

Potter smiled.

“I think it will be great for kids though, in our community. To learn that you’re bisexual. I think that it will help some poor little soul, feeling all crappy about themselves.” Draco mused.

Potter pulled a face. “Maybe ten years ago. I’m not as impressive these days. People think I’m a nightmare.”

Draco pictured several reems of images of Potter charging through photographers and the media screaming ‘FUCK OFF’.

“Yes, because you did nothing to deserve that moniker.”

Harry shook his head. “The public think they have a right to you. Like you’re their property. I don’t like that feeling. It’s like a cage.”

“Do you regret what you did?”

“Don’t be a bellend. No, of course not. I’d do it ten times over. It’s not right for anyone to be caged. That’s what Riddle would have done. I just wish people would back off a bit. I hated the war. I don’t want to talk about it … I mean, I do have to talk about it. Every second Thursday of the month at three-thirty pm.”

“Ah yes, and how is the mind healing going?”

Potter took a deep breath. “Good, mainly. It works. I’m better.”

“I like it when they make you find out something for yourself and it’s like a light goes on in your head …”

“Yes! And then you go - how have I missed this?”

They grinned at each other.

“How would you come out if you had a choice?” Draco asked, watching as Potter waggled the stick and pushed his foot down on a pedal. Potter had incredibly lovely thighs.

The Saviour was quiet for a moment, thinking.

“I just … wouldn’t. I’d just go out on a date, kiss someone in the street, maybe. My friends know, obviously, so I’d just carry on as normal with someone. But then, that’s not my life. If the date is with a bloke, I’d get a few hundred people screaming in my face, ‘Are you gay, Harry?’... and that’s not fair for me or the other person, so I just keep it all quiet.”

“You know, if you had a publicist all of this noise would go away,” Draco murmured.

“What’s a publicist?” Harry asked, making something on the car click repetitively, they headed in a different direction. Potter turned the wheel by using the heel of his palm. Draco adjusted his trousers. Why was that arousing?

“Umm, it’s someone who handles all the noise. When you have something change in your life, they sort it. They can be the bane of a journalist's life, or their very best friend. I loathe and love them at the same time.”

“What do you mean? How do they handle it?”

“They take the information and control the story and the media so it comes out the right way. You want it done quietly? They can do that. Like, with what I’m doing - I get dumped, the papers tell the story, but it gets bumped way down the line for the fact I’m now on dates with you, so no one cares.”

Draco swallowed and looked out of the window. No one cares but me. Pansy was right, everything would go to shit now that Tristan didn’t care. It only took one bad choice to make people turn against you.

“Right, and could you do that for me?” Harry asked.

Draco wafted away his dark thoughts and sat up a little straighter.“Yes, we make the gay thing the least interesting bit about the story. We give them something better.”

Potter frowned and looked over at Draco. He was tapping his thumbs on the wheel. His lovely brown thumbs. Ignoring the stupid watch Potter had retrieved from his bedroom, Draco’s eyes drifted over Potter’s arms. “Like what?”

Draco was busy staring at Potter’s muscled forearms. He smiled as he answered. “Like a photoshoot.”

The car screeched to a stop. “Are you fucking kidding me!”

~

“Oh my god, it’s just … there. It’s really there,” Ginny was saying. She turned the paper by ninety degrees and leaned back.

Dean, who was sitting next to her, sighed. “Fuck, Harry. I mean, I’m not saying I feel inadequate, but I’m not, not saying it.”

Harry had his head in his hands. “Stop looking at it!”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Man, It’s the way you pull your leg up and it seems to get bigger,” Dean said.

“Like it’s sentient!” Ginny gasped.

“Fucking hell,” Harry moaned.

This was all Malfoy’s fault. Harry had been so enamoured with the bloody piece that the ice-blonde prick had written, he’d agreed to do the photo shoot.

Pansy, who had branched into designing muggle underwear, wanted to recreate the Beckham Calvin Klein advert, as a bit of a laugh. She said they’d take some photos and play around. Harry had put the tight, white boxer shorts on and everyone who was working on the photoshoot was extremely complimentary, calling him a natural model and gifted … he’d sort of got carried away.

“On the plus side, no one cares that you're bisexual. They just all want to salivate over your junk,” Ginny said, finally looking away from the double page spread. “Anyway, I told you, didn't I? He’s good, right? The anemic little ferret.”

“He’s got such a way with words,” Dean said. “Listen to this bit … Potter carried his plight silently, without uttering even the smallest plea for support. He was bent into shape by an unhappy upbringing - learning quickly that adults cannot be relied on. Later, he can admit to spending time with a family who let him down, asking for no apology - because it’s ‘done’. Potter has no time for trivialities, ego or worship. He just strides forward, so you’d better keep up.”

Ginny pretended to faint. “Yum, he makes you sound like Aragorn.”

Harry felt the shiver run down his back. The words sounded much better in Dean’s voice. Although when he read them the first time they sounded like Malfoy, and that was nice too. Reading the article was similar to holding up a mirror to his face. Looking at every feature, recognising his flaws, appreciating them.

Malfoy had captured Harry in a way that even Harry himself had not totally understood.

Ginny cleared her throat. “This is my favourite bit, Harry Potter isn’t a commodity. He’s not a ‘thing’. He’s not a saviour or a Dark Lord killer. He’s just a man. If the world was in peril tomorrow, and it was the last stand, he would be there. Not because he should, and not because he’s The Chosen One. It’s because his very bones are enthused with the certainty that it needs to get done. A bit like if the bin needs taking out. It was a job and he did it. He sees no need to discuss it.”

It was one of Harry’s favourites too. Although, he liked it when Malfoy had asked him about whether he’d been in love. That bit was opposite the boxer short picture. And, underneath the one where they got him to do pullups on a pipe in the warehouse. ‘Asking Potter about love was like dangling your toes in a fresh stream on a hot day. ‘Yeah I've been in love, and I’ve had my heart broken, too. There’s no shame in it. Loving people is about being human, isn’t it? I think my problem is that when it does happen, I fall in love quickly. It’s pulling myself back up which is the problem.’ His honesty is utterly refreshing. Happily, I rolled my trouser leg up and delved in.’

“Malfoy sounds like he's got a bit of a crush, mate,” Dean stated, winding Ginny’s hair around his finger.

Right, got to set the rumours off.

“Well, it was nice actually. We had a good time together, I’m going out with him for a drink tonight …” Harry answered with a straight face.

“I KNEW IT!” Ginny shouted, pointing a finger in his face. “I bloody knew it, didn’t I, Dean? I knew you both fancied each other!”

Harry pulled a face. “No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I bloody well did.” Ginny slapped the table, which made Eric bark. “George owes me five galleons.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Good for you, mate,” Dean exclaimed, ignoring his wife. “Malfoy is alright these days. Did you see the spread he did on my artwork? I got most of my clients from that article.”

Harry nodded. He had not seen the article. He felt bad.

Ginny was rubbing her massive pregnant belly. “Oh my god, I’m so brilliant. I knew this day was coming. Wait till I tell Mum!”

Malfoy must have been doing this for quite a while because Dean had been selling his art on the regular for ages. How much had Harry missed?

“And, he got Lav all those customers at her coffee shop. I think he even came up with the name? Didn’t he, Gin?” Dean asked his wife who was busy celebrating by herself. Pulling a fist down in triumph.

“... of course I said it first, no one else said it. It was me! I knew all along. Yes! - oh, what? Lav’s place? Yeah. He called it, All Bite and no Bark, people loved it. He’s smarter than he looks for an albino weirdo.”

Dean pulled a face. “Gin, you’re exactly the same shade of … pale.”

“I have freckles, Dean. That adds a completely different shade to my complexion,” Ginny remarked, holding up a freckled arm.

Dean nodded and gave his wife a weird look whilst she inspected her own arm. “Anyway, I thought Malfoy was with Tristan St James?”

Harry got an odd feeling in his gut. It was probably because Tristan had messed him around. “No, they ended it last week. He’s single.”

“Single and ready to mingle, eh, Harry! Someone is going to get laid later!” Ginny said excitedly, and then leaned to the left and let out a squeaky fart.

“Gin!” Dean reprimanded, wafting the stink around and holding his nose.

“Dean, I have to fart. If I keep it in I will explode. Do you want me to explode?”

Dean, like the wonderful person he was, shook his head and kissed her forehead.

Harry opened a window and Eric sniffed the air happily. “Fucking hell, Gin - what have you been eating?”

“Like, a worrying amount of Pepperami. And lots of olives,” she answered earnestly.

~

Harry was wearing a shirt and jeans.

So was Malfoy. But his jeans were so tight that Harry worried if the man was able to breathe or move. He’d been waiting on a bar stool since Harry had arrived, drinking a gin and tonic, so the jury was out.

They’d chatted about the article for a bit but were now focussing on the promised media training. Harry didn’t know how it happened but he seemed to be really comfortable around Malfoy, and sooner rather than later, they were sitting in a way that could only be construed as them being romantically interested in each other.

They were facing each other, Harry was munching bar nuts, listening and nodding to what Malfoy was telling him. His legs were either side of Malfoy’s barstool and Malfoy’s feet were propped up on the spindle of Harry's stool.

“ … I mean the point is that you want them to go away and stop bothering you, right?”

Harry nodded.

“But they won’t if you keep barging through them and growling. That’s still newsworthy! People love a moody nutter.” Malfoy continued taking a sip of his drink.

“I’m not a nutter!”

“No, you’re not. Surprisingly. But you are moody and you get cross a lot. You have to employ some patience, Potter. If you stand and smile for a few seconds and let them get a picture - they’ll stop. If they ask a question, and it’s too personal, send back a flirty reply.”

“Like what?” asked Harry, offering the bowl to Malfoy. The other man picked a nut up and threw it in the air, catching it before crunching and swallowing.

He shrugged. “Like, ‘wouldn’t you like to know …’ or ‘I couldn’t possibly say’. Keep it light, they’re just doing their job. I mean if someone is being a complete nob - go ham on them. They deserve it but most of us just need to put something in the paper.”

“So basically, don’t lose my temper and be flirty?”

Malfoy smirked. “Yeah if you can handle that …”

“You don’t think I can flirt?” Harry asked, leaning a bit closer.

Malfoy laughed into his drink. It was his third, Harry remembered number three would be the buzzy drink. The one where you’d get a bit overconfident, lose some of those inhibitions.

“I know you can’t, Potter. I saw your disastrous school interactions. Lord, they were fun.”

Harry sat and smiled at Malfoy. He licked his bottom lip and put his hand on his thighs. “Yeah, I was pretty useless in school, I’ve changed a bit now.”

Malfoy glanced at Harry’s thighs. “Mildly, I suppose.”

“You’ve changed.” Harry stated, keeping his voice low and deep. “You look pretty gorgeous these days. I mean it was always there, right? You were always good looking.”

Malfoy glanced up. He blinked at Harry. “You think I’m …”

Harry leaned across and touched Malfoy’s chin lightly with a crooked finger, raising his face infinitesimally. “Gods yeah, look at your lips and those eyes. I’d say you were a solid nine.”

Malfoy parted his lips. His eyes widened. Harry leaned forward a touch more, his hand moved and he put it softly on the back of Malfoy’s neck, pulling him forward. He leaned in as if he was going to kiss him, and then turned slightly so his lips brushed Malfoy’s cheek.

He was gratified to see Malfoy had closed his eyes. “Guess I can flirt after all, huh?” he whispered in Malfoy’s ear.

Malfoy pushed him away as Harry grinned. “Puh! What? You call that flirting! Anyway, what the hell do you mean, a nine? I’m a fucking ten, you dick.”

Harry laughed and swigged his icy Coke. “Yep, you’re a ten. A ten out of ten for being a bellend.”

“You’re not even my type,” Malfoy said moodily.

“Yes, I’ve heard. I’m too monstrously big.” Harry huffed.

He didn’t let anyone know, but he was a bit conscious of his size. His body had grown so quickly, he had growing pains. If he didn’t stretch, his legs would cramp severely. It was great sometimes, he loved being a beater. Being a seeker had been fab when there was action but it had also been boring and cold.

He now spent the whole game, protecting his team mates and whacking bludgers at people, it was fantastic and Martha was an awesome partner. It also felt like a nice homage to Fred, who he missed all the time.

Malfoy must have seen something in Harry’s face because his gaze softened. “Not monstrously, you’re just big. I guess it’s not awful. It’s growing on me.”

“You just miss the little version from school.” Harry raised an eyebrow and Malfoy grinned. God, he had nice teeth. A nice smile too.

“You were cute, I wanted to put you in my pocket,” Malfoy said with a dreamy smile.

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t that small.” Harry rolled his eyes and played with a match box on the bar.

“You were a teeny-tiny little urchin, and I loathed you as much as I wanted to wrap you in a blanket and feed you treats …”

Harry gave Malfoy a weird look. “I’m sorry, you wanted to do what?”

Malfoy laughed. “I was very confused at school. I was trying very hard not to be gay and I fancied the version of you I thought I could save, so I was horrible to you.”

Harry frowned. “You did?”

“Yes, whilst we’re being honest. I had a big horrible gay crush on you. Hence the mild bullying. And you’re obviously into me. You think I’m good looking …”

Mild bullying?

“I was saying that for the ‘flirting’!”

“Yes, of course you were.” Malfoy smiled and nodded like the annoying prick he was.

“Oh my god, you’re so vain.”

Malfoy kept smiling. “Which is my best side?” He turned his head from side to side showing Harry his rather lovely bone structure.

Harry snorted. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

“It’s mutually beneficial. Now, drink up, we need to go on a romantic walk together …”

“Great, do we get to skip and hold hands?” Harry downed his drink like a good little wizard. He watched as Draco turned and accio’d his coat from the hook. Christ, Malfoy had got a really nice arse.

Harry looked away just as Malfoy turned back, putting his jacket on. “Ready?”

No.

“Yep, let’s go.”

“Okay, Albert, the photographer is going to catch us by the fountain opposite F&B’s, we need to make it look like we want to snog the arse off each other, so keep doing the flirty thing and I’ll try my best not to rebound off you like a bludger bouncing off Pansy’s massive head.”

Harry took a deep breath and followed Draco’s arse out of the bar.

~

Draco's heart was in his throat, his palms were clammy and he wanted to vomit.

Again.

With nervous fingers he waggled the tie he was wearing, ‘straightening’ it but really giving himself something to do.

The month of May had been mostly fine but on that day, England’s fair weather had turned dire and the rain was howling across the pitch like they were in the middle of winter.

Draco was in his parents' coveted box, warm as toast and with the best impervius charms known to man.

Unfortunately, so was his father. In the box, that is. It was the only way Draco could ever get the seats. Lucius, the canny bastard, was the only one who was able to enter, meaning he always got company whenever there was a match. His penitent father was presently flirting with Granger and Pansy. Not caring that they weren’t particularly interested.

The old fool believed that there’d never be a lesbian he couldn’t turn. “Everyone likes a cock, Draco - it’s only a matter of time.” He’d murmur.

Draco agreed. Mostly. It was just that some people, for example, lesbians, didn’t particularly like said cock attached to a man's body. They preferred a shop bought one, with vibrations and a purple-y satin-like finish. Similar to the one he had in his bedside drawer.

Puddlemere’s team swept through the team entrance and zoomed around the pitch. Draco kept a manic smile upon his face, determined not to show even an ounce of how miserable he felt.

Did he want to attend a quidditch match that his ex was playing in? No, he did not.

Tristan looked amazing. Handsome, slender, and utterly wondrous on a broom. He was waving to the crowd, and doing fly-overs to the hoard of people who carried his banner.

It had been three weeks since the watch incident. Draco had received a brief note by owl a few days after he’d seen Tristan and the twink at dinner.

Draco, stop.

You’re embarrassing yourself. It’s over.

Best, TSJ

Before The Plan had been put into operation, he may have called Tristan a few (hundred) times.

Draco clapped politely, he threw Pansy a few death stares. He seriously didn’t want to be here but Granger had suggested this as the perfect way to get back at the cheating little snot.

The Wasps were the next team streaming from the entrance, they flew out in a different direction. Their yellow and black uniforms, bright on a dreary day.

Draco could admit that Potter looked good in quidditch robes. Those broom thighs he had were fairly spectacular.

His amazing idea to entice Potter into a subdued photoshoot were doused epically by Pansy - who wanted to ‘go big or go home’. Draco had fantasised about grainy images of Potter on a windy cliff, his curls blowing and those pretty green eyes staring intensely at the sea. A dogtooth, woolen coat covering his big shoulders and thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

Pansy had scoffed. “No one wants to see that!”

Instead, she had managed to get Potter to agree to taking his clothes off, basically whoring himself to the wizarding world with his extremely nice proportions.

Pansy had sworn that Potter had no extra packaging around his … package. “It was all him, I swear!”

Potter having an athletic body, was pretty par for the course. He was a beater, he needed to be fit, but with the whole natural aubergine stuffed into those extremely tight trunks, it was fairly overwhelming.

Especially since that fake bit of flirting in the bar. Draco kept remembering how it felt to have Potter’s full attention, his green eyes, warm and half lidded. Bastard.

The crowd roared as the Wasps sped about on their brooms bringing Draco’s thoughts back to the match. He smiled as he witnessed a hundred banners charmed into LGBTQ rainbows. His heart warmed at the sight. Potter had been out for two weeks and the response had been electric. Everytime he played he was surrounded by the most enthusiastic support.

Draco watched as Potter threw his bat up in the air and caught it middle barrel roll. Waving shyly to the crowd.

It was such a change from the more intense Potter, who had nodded or growled on the odd occasion.

He still flew like the wind was his very best friend. Even in his bigger body he was grace personified.

If Tristan was wondrous, Potter was godlike. He was born to fly.

“My my, Draco, two of your paramours are on the pitch today, how utterly thrilling,” Lucius drawled, one hand on his cane and an eye on Pansy’s long legs.

“Hmm,” Draco said noncommittally. It truly was just best to ignore the old prick.

He had been to a few of Tristan’s games, he always found it a bit gauche to watch your lover play. Seemed a bit needy and that was the last thing he had wanted Tristan to think.

In fact, now he looked back, he had managed his relationship with Tristan with the utmost precision. Ensuring that the handsome American was pleased. Putting his needs first. Never encroaching, or rushing him - waiting for an invitation, happy to see him a couple of times a week. Not even daring to hope that they’d move further forward without hearing something positive of that nature first.

Which had been so fucking stupid. It was making Draco feel miserable and small. He hated that feeling.

The game started and Draco watched the players fly into formation. It was rather thrilling watching Potter play again. He’d seen him play last year, or maybe the year before? He was an incredible beater. He and his team mate, Martha Jenkins, were fast and efficient.

Draco’s eyes remained glued to Potter even when Tristan was speeding towards the hoops, with one arm hooked around the quaffle. His head was bent low, banking this way and that to outmanoeuvre the other chasers.

He should have passed the quaffle, because in the next moment, Martha sent a bludger over to Harry and he backhanded it into Tristan’s ribs quite vivaciously. The American dropped the quaffle into Flint’s waiting hands (who had been hovering below) and Draco’s former Slytherin team mate sped off towards the other goals.

He looked back quickly to see that Tristan was winded and still trying to get his breath back. Glancing forward, the crowd roared as Flint scored through the middle hoops and celebrated with a corkscrew dive, high-fiving Potter on his way past.

Draco started to quite enjoy the game after that. He cheered with the rest of the crowd as Potter almost unseated another chaser from Tristan’s team. Laughed when Potter headed the quaffle, like a football player, over to Martha who batted it to Flint to score again.

Unfortunately, Maisie Simpkin, Puddlemere’s tiny seeker caught the Snitch about an hour into the game. The team flew over the crowd to celebrate and Draco felt his heart in his throat when Tristan flew in his direction. Draco’s ex had done this before, coming and stealing a quick kiss in celebration.

Was he coming over to make amends, or maybe just say hi? Or maybe to apologise, beg for forgiveness? Maybe the pictures of Potter and him canoodling by the fountain in Diagon Alley had made him jealous?

Potter had Draco’s lapels in his hands and was whispering directly into Draco’s ear things like; it’s freezing out here, how long is that prat going to be? Do you dye your hair? Do you still do that fancy origami? I’m starving and I need a wee, are we done yet?

The pictures showed Potter curling into Draco and holding him close, Draco’s smile as he breathed in Potter’s lovely scent. It totally looked like they were snogging.

Tristan suddenly flew a bit lower, changing his trajectory and Draco realised that Toby the twink was underneath the Malfoy box, smiling and cheering in the crowd. Oh no.

He felt the colour drain from his face when Tristan flew right into the stands and grabbed Toby, kissing him quickly before flying off.

Draco was suddenly aware that the whole crowd was watching him. Why were they staring? Tristan had flown away.

Oh god this was horrifying, he kept a manic smile on his face. He felt like he was going to faint. Everywhere he looked people were staring and smiling at him, pointing in some cases. Were they laughing at him? What was happening?

“Hey,” said a voice above his head.

Draco looked up, and there was Potter hanging upside down from his broom. His legs were hooked around the foot pegs and he had his arms crossed on his chest. He was sweaty and his eyes were dancing with amusement.

“Don’t suppose you fancy a kiss with a loser?” Potter asked.

Draco swallowed, he was still reeling from what had happened, but this was just madness. It wasn’t Potter’s style to do a grand gesture. What on earth was he doing?

“Malfoy, don’t keep me hanging,” he quipped.

Draco huffed out a laugh. He turned his face up and raised his hands, placing them gently on each side of Potter's sweaty face. He raised himself slightly and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

Potter suddenly looped his hands under Draco’s armpits and flew the broom up a good five feet so Draco was dangling in the air. Draco grabbed onto the back of Harry’s neck.

“Potter!” he shrieked as the crowd cheered.

The idiot was laughing his head off.

“Put me down!” Draco hissed.

“C’mon, Malfoy this is good PR … right? Plus, I won’t let you fall.” Potter kissed him swiftly again and then flew lower, gently placing Draco back on his feet.

“See you later for a drink?” Potter asked as Draco got his bearings.

“Sod off,” Draco said quietly, smiling and waving at the crowd.

“That’s a yes. Alright ladies? That includes you Lucius? Tried killing any more twelve year olds recently?” Potter asked chattily, still upside down.

“Fuck you,” Lucius replied, smiling at the crowd and waving.

Potter laughed, simultaneously doing a crunch to pull himself back up to his broom. Then he winked at Draco and zoomed off.

Draco was very aware that the blood had come back to his face and he was blushing wildly.

“Well, I won’t lie. That’s probably one man I could happily fantasise over,” Pansy stated shaking her head as Potter flew around the pitch.

Hermione laughed and Lucius muttered nasty things under his breath.

Draco realised in that moment he was totally unbothered by Tristan’s appalling behaviour. On the other hand he was totally consumed by the curly-haired, moron’s soft lips and why he didn’t care that he could still feel Potter’s sweat on his upper lip. In a move that would forever confuse him, he tasted it with the tip of his tongue.

~

Draco was sipping a glass of champagne. Pansy, the absolute wretch, had made him go directly to the players’ lounge. Lucius had accompanied him for moral support, although he was currently chatting up Puddlemere’s tiny seeker, Maisie Simpkin, who was at least thirty-five years younger than him. She was also a muggleborn, which just showed you that straight men didn’t really care about anything other than a perky pair of tits.

Pansy had whisked Granger away because she had sneezed during the game. She had stated that poor Granger worked far too hard and had a terrible immune system, so she’d need to go straight to bed, with a hottie.

Mouthing the words I’m the hottie as she wafted Granger towards the door.

Straightening his tie, he turned and almost walked directly into Tristan, accompanied by his school-aged boyfriend.

“Draco! How great to see you out and about! I was worried,” Tristan said with a smile.

“I’m Toby!” said the twinkish nightmare, offering a hand to shake.

“Charmed,” Draco replied, shaking his hand, feeling like he wanted to jump out of the window.

“This is Draco Malfoy, he’s a journalist for the Prophet,” explained Tristan slowly.

“Lovely, I love the paper …” Toby exclaimed and then a tray of floating drinks caught his attention.

Draco glanced at Tristan thinking really?

“So, you’ve been busy … where’s the new man, then? Unusual choice, don’t you think, considering what’s happened recently?”

Draco frowned. “I’m sorry? Are you annoyed that I’ve started seeing the man you cheated on me with?”

“Well, it’s just a little needy isn’t it? Reeks a bit of desperation, Dray … thought you were a bit more mature than that.”

Draco, annoyingly, felt like either bursting into tears or punching someone. The former seemed to be winning and he blinked furiously.

“There you are!” said a deep voice from behind. Draco was spun around, his glass taken from his fingers and placed on a passing tray, and his mouth sealed with Harry Potter’s soft lips.

Draco tried to breathe through his nose but his eyes were wide open from the shock.

Harry laughed as he pulled away. “Sorry, love, it’s just you look so fucking good from behind.” He had his large hands on Draco’s buttocks and was squeezing them tenderly. “And the front, if I'm honest. Christ, you turn me on. Want to get out of here?”

Potter then looked up and saw Tristan.

“St James! Man, I can't thank you enough. You know how long I’ve wanted to land Malfoy? Years and years! Honestly, you fucking up has been such a blessing for me,” Potter said, shaking Tristan’s hand vigorously.

“Toby!” Potter continued. “Look at you! Merlin, you grow up every time I see you.”

Toby preened and smiled happily.

Draco snorted. He couldn’t help it.

Potter grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Draco said, feeling fairly wonderful.

“Catch you guys later,” Potter said, striding off and pulling Draco along.

As Potter walked, Draco tried to pull himself together. The wonderful feeling was fading and he was left with something else. Tristan was such an arse and even though he should hate him, he didn’t.

How can you go from loving someone to hating them? It was just so hard.

They came through the main doors to the quidditch stadium and the press were outside.

The photographers shouted Harry’s name. He stopped for a moment, like Draco had suggested. Took a deep breath and smiled shyly, waving with his free hand.

“How long have you been together?” Flash, flash.

“How are you taking the loss, Harry?” Flash, flash.

“When’s the wedding?” Flash, flash.

“Is all forgiven, Harry?” Flash, flash.

“What happened with St James, Draco?” Flash, flash.

“Where are you guys off to?” Flash flash.

“Hopefully back to my house so Draco can cheer me up …” Potter said, with a wink. The press laughed and Potter began walking, waving goodbye.

“Back to mine?” he asked quietly as they strolled to the apparition point.

“Yes, please,” Draco said, trying to smile.

~

Malfoy was staring out of Harry’s garden window, absently stroking Eric's ears. His face was pensive. Harry hated it.

He placed a cup of tea in front of the ice-blonde who looked up with a small smile.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table, his hands around his own steaming mug. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry didn’t particularly get it. St James was obviously a wanker. He’d heard what he’d said to Malfoy. The bit about being needy. If Harry really wanted to hurt Draco, he’d say something similar. Malfoy hated to be thought of as dependent, a coward, etc. Of course, these days, Harry didn’t want to hurt Malfoy at all. Presently, he’d like to beat the shit out of that smug arsehole St James. Hence, why he was so heavy handed during the match.

Martha, bless her, had gone along with it. “Fucking dirty cheater,” she’d said every time she had set Harry up with the perfect play to bludgeon St James to death.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Malfoy sniffed, blinking furiously. “I’ll drink this and be out of your hair.”

Harry sat back. “So you have plans for the rest of today?”

Draco shook his head. “No. No, I just thought …”

“Stay and hang out,” Harry said.

Malfoy stared at him, a multitude of emotions rippled over his face.

“Unless the kissing freaked you out. Thought it might be a good idea … but I didn’t even ask you …”

Draco leaned forward and patted Harry’s forearm. “No, it was fine … I’m fine with it and to be honest it was very much appreciated because I felt …” Malfoy stopped for a minute and searched Harry’s face.

“Well, I felt like a bit of a dickhead.”

“Wanker,” Harry said, and Malfoy jerked away, his slender fingers moving from Harry’s arm.

Harry reached for Malfoy’s hand. “Not you, St James. The guy is a proper fucking shit. I’m really sorry. I can’t believe we both fell for it.”

Malfoy looked at their enclosed hands. “Yeah, well at least you found out relatively quickly. I was in for the long haul.”

“Don’t do that. Blokes like St James just show you facets that appeal to you. Most people aren’t like that. You’re not a fool for liking someone who was manipulating you into liking them. He is! Who behaves like that? The guy is a dickhead. Anyone who knows you can see how smart you are. He probably knew you’d figure him out eventually and wanted out before you dumped him.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, frowned and then leant across the table. He kissed Harry. Hands landing in Harry’s hair, lips on lips. Faces mashed together, the smell of citrus and sandalwood enveloping his senses. Fuck.

Malfoy pulled back wide-eyed. “I’m s-sorry. It’s just what you said - it was …”

Harry had kissed Malfoy four times that day and every single kiss was better than the last. He didn’t know why he had kissed him in the first place. He’d gone over for a celebratory hug. Trying to out-do that smug prick St James, and also wipe the sadness from Malfoy’s face.

He hadn’t liked seeing Malfoy like that.

Malfoy’s face was one hundred percent better when he looked devilish and like he’d just accomplished something naughty. Not forlorn and hurt.

Harry smiled. “Don’t apologise, you’re a good kisser.”

Malfoy raised a brow. “I’m a great kisser.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, the jury’s out. I haven’t even experienced a full snog yet.”

“With tongue?”

“Obviously,” Harry snorted.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Pull your chair back.”

Harry looked around him and scraped the chair away from the table.

Patting Eric's head, Malfoy plonked himself in Harry’s lap, straddling him. Harry looked up and his heart began to pump furiously.

Draco Malfoy was gorgeous. Those lips, those fucking eyes.

Malfoy looked down at him with a smirk. “Pucker up, Potter.” He cradled Harry's jaw and leaned down, brushing his lips on Harry’s.

Oh, fuck.

Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy, pulling him closer as he felt the flick of a tongue on his lower lip. He opened his mouth and Malfoy smoothed his tongue inside.

Harry groaned, he had such a boner. Malfoy writhed on it, the bastard.

It was possibly the best kiss of Harry’s life. It kept getting better. Malfoy was sexy and his body was amazing. He was lithe and felt strong and unbreakable in Harry's hands. Christ, Harry tightened his grip. Pulling Malfoy even closer, grinding him down on his dick.

He wanted to devour Malfoy. Wanted to own him. Wanted to chase all that shitty sadness away until Malfoy could barely remember that stupid American’s name.

Malfoy moaned as Harry thrust up. The blonde pulled his mouth away, grabbing a breath. Harry bit into the side of his neck, nipping and licking. Malfoy made room, leaning back. Harry checked he was still okay, but Malfoy had his eyes closed in bliss. He was too busy rubbing himself on Harry's lap.

Eric barked. They both jumped.

“Shit!” Malfoy said.

Harry rubbed his back soothingly. He was out of breath. “Ten out of ten.”

“Huh?” Draco looked back at Harry.

“You’re a great kisser,” Harry affirmed.

Malfoy laughed. “I told you!”

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Fancy taking him out for a walk with me? Or you can hang out here till I get back.”

Malfoy blinked. “Oh, yeah. Okay. I’ll come. Err, with you. I’ll come with you.”

Harry leaned forward and sniffed into Draco’s neck. He placed a kiss on his Adam's apple. Mainly because he had an urge to.

“Umm, unless you want me to carry you, I need to get up …”

Malfoy frowned and looked at where he was sitting. “Right, I’ll just get off.”

Malfoy didn’t move though.

“Do you have a woody?” Harry asked calmly.

“Yes, Potter. I seem to have quite the erection.”

“Me too,” Harry replied.

“Potter, people in Egypt know you have an erection. The Suez Canal called, they’re having trouble getting a ship through and wondered if you could move it.”

Harry laughed. “Get off me. I need to walk this whiny idiot. And Eric.”

Malfoy finally stood up and excused himself to go to the loo.

“Don’t get it on my towels!” Harry called.

“Very witty, dickhead.” Malfoy called back.

~

Draco was unsure what was happening. It was as if he was viewing his life from an outsider's perspective. They’d just taken Eric for a walk to a huge muggle park, equipped with a lake to walk around, play equipment for children and a small petting farm. The day was still dreary and obviously they couldn’t use magic, so Draco was in a huge, puffy orange anorak of Potter’s. It smelt divine.

Potter chatted benignly to him as they walked along. Telling him quidditch stories, what the Weasleys were up to, how he still wasn’t sure why he ended up mostly naked on a double page spread of the Prophet. Eric trotted by their sides for a bit, he would then run off and bark at geese, or ducks. He greeted other dogs enthusiastically but always came back to Potter’s shrill whistle.

Often an arm would be slung around Draco’s shoulders as they strolled along. Or, Potter would touch the back of Draco’s neck, showing him a nest in a tree or the little old lady Eric had nearly maimed some weeks before. “It was an epic jump, but he nearly took her head off. I think the tip of his penis dislodged her hat.”

After Eric had deposited a fairly horror-inducing dump on the path, which Potter discreetly vanished, they wandered back to the house and Draco had been asked a fair few questions as they ambled past the sexy car of death.

Sexy because Potter drove it sexily and death, because it was muggle and filled with things that would very easily set it on fire.

“You’re very good at putting people at their ease,” Potter stated, like he complimented Draco every day. The bigger man took Draco’s coat and hung it up on the hook with his own, and Eric's lead. “I knew you’d be good at any job you did but I hated the Prophet so much I thought you’d be writing like Skeeter …”

“I do write like Skeeter, she mentored me,” Draco explained as he washed his hands at the sink. Eric was by his feet guzzling down the bowlful of fresh water Potter had put out for him.

Harry shook his head. “No you don’t. Her writing is passive aggressive and barbed. She writes like everyone is in on the joke but you. You write like that person has enthralled you, and everyone should see what you’re seeing.”

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“Do you fancy a curry? Can’t be arsed to cook …” Potter said, leaning a hip on the counter and looking at a menu.

Potter had been like this since they’d kissed. Just casual and boyfriend-y. Flirty and sexy, fun and unassuming. Natural, as if he hadn’t just blown Draco’s world apart.

That kiss. That kiss had been unbelievable. Full of something that Draco had never dared hope for. Kissing Potter was not for lesser men. It was engulfing and wild and terrifying.

It wasn’t supposed to happen to an ex-Death Eater who had bullied him in school.

Was this just for today? Did Potter kiss all his friends? Or his old school nemeses’? Or whatever they were, these days …

“Potter!” Draco hissed. “What the fuck is happening?”

The man himself looked up in confusion. “We don’t have to have curry?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

“I’m not on about the …” he looked up. “Potter we have kissed a lot today. I know it was mostly for show, but that last one was for us .. I mean, me.” Draco could admit that if nothing else.

“Okay,” Potter exclaimed quietly.

“I can’t … do this, if it’s nothing.” Draco looked at the floor. Eric licked his fingers and he stroked the big dog's head. “I’m not up for … casual. I know that’s not fair. I’m not asking for … Listen, I’m three weeks into a horrible breakup, for fucks sake.”

Potter was quiet. Horribly quiet.

Draco looked up to his stunned face. Alright then.

He grabbed his wand, preparing to apparate and very grateful that being a wizard meant he could get the fuck out of here before he fell apart. “Well, thanks for today,” he mumbled.

There was part of Draco that thought Potter had shouted ‘wait’ as he cast the apparition spell but it was probably just wishful thinking.

~

“Pansy!” Draco screeched as he entered her abode.

Her lounge was all white. There wasn’t a hint of colour. Draco vanished the floo powder before it fell to the floor. She would literally kill him if a flake landed on the carpet.

He’d stayed at home for exactly four minutes before he had a full blown flap-attack and decided to go and shout at his best friend. Her guilt would make him feel better.

“Pansy, Pomander, Pineapple, Parkinson! Get here. Right now!”

She flew into the living room wrapping a satin robe around her skinny frame. “That isn’t my name,” she stated in confusion.

“I know, but it’s annoying when someone gets something epically wrong isn’t it?” Draco said, folding himself into her uncomfortable sofa.

“What are you on about?”

“I know about your little game … and it worked, you glutenous slut. Potter and I kissed, properly. Sexily. It was pornographic and perfect.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“Because,” Draco gulped, feeling the tears begin to fall from his eyes. “I am a real person who has just come out of a shitty relationship … and being with Potter has broken me even further because … if I get nothing less that his complete adoration, for eternity, it will KILL ME!”

“Oh shit, Draco … darling,” she landed next to him and held him tenderly.

Draco crumpled against her and sobbed.

“It’s stupid. He owes me nothing, but he’s just so incredible and sexy and huge. He’s so huge, Pansy, like really big, and he used to be so little and cute, and now he’s fucking MASSIVE!” Draco whined.

“I know,” Pansy agreed, stroking his hair.

“I can’t believe I got the slightest crack at him and fucked it up because of T-Tristan St Jaaaames.” Draco wailed.

“Oh babes, I’m sorry.”

“Pans, everything hurts … and … and … I’m going to be alone forever.”

“Don’t be silly!”

Draco wiped his face on her robe. He sat up a bit and frowned. “Pansy, you smell like girl sex!” he accused.

Pansy snorted, “I’m surprised you remember what it smells like.”

“Girls are gross,” he said and then gasped. “Is Granger here?” Fuck, what if she had heard him!

“Umm …”

They both looked towards the door where Granger was leaning, holding a tray of tea. “Thought this might be helpful, and I won’t say anything, Draco. I promise.”

Draco put his head in his hands. Merlin’s great big ball sack. Life just wouldn’t stop kicking him in the nuts.

Pansy got up and Draco raised his head just to see her whip the tray out of Granger’s hands. “That’s honestly lovely, darling. But, I think we may need something a little stronger.”

And, that was how Draco had found himself dancing and singing in Pansy’s living room, about an hour and a half later.

Draco had been given a very cool Ziggy Stardust makeover; with silver eye makeup and a big orange star on his cheek. Granger had rainbow eye makeup and bright pink lipstick on, and Pansy looked a bit like Pris, from Blade Runner - Granger said it was a bit of a fantasy of hers. So, there you go.

After a bottle of Chablis, Draco was feeling much better and couldn’t understand why they didn’t spend all their time with Granger. She was hilarious and very beautiful.

“You’re hilarious and very beautiful,” he told her solemnly, whilst his elbow slipped off the arm of the chair.

And, most importantly, she had lots of lovely gossip about Potter. Like, how he’d bought his dog because he was lonely. And, how he wanted a relationship, but was a bit shit with people. Often upsetting them before they got a chance to know him. And, the reason he had lasted in a long term relationship with Charlie Weasley was because he only saw him three times a year.

“I’m not one to stick my nose in,” Granger said seriously, with a slow blink. “But, Harry needs a bit of PR for his life, as well as his job. He doesn’t really understand people. It’s weird though, since you and he have got closer, he is really starting to get it. As in, how to make his life easier. He listens to you.”

“It’s because I’m brilliant,” Draco had pronounced.

“Well yes, but you’ve always understood him quite well, really, haven’t you?” Granger agreed.

“It’s quite simple. Potter needs you to manage his life,” Pansy said, filling up everyone's glasses.

Draco sat up and spilled some of his wine. (Thankfully, Pansy was too busy looking at Granger again to notice). “OH MY GOD! You’re right. He does need me. For love stuff and everything else!”

They had all agreed that this was right. And, it had henceforth been decreed that Draco would love Potter and be his boyfriend - slash - PR coach.

After that, they put music on and danced.

“Love me, love me,” Granger sang from where she stood on the couch.

“Say that you love me!” sang Pansy from the floor, staring up adoringly at Granger.

“Fool me, fool me!” sang Draco, as he gyrated enthusiastically to The Cardigans.

“Go on and fool me,” said Potter who was leaning on the doorframe.

They stopped dancing and stared at him.

“How long have you been there?” asked Granger, getting down off the couch.

Draco ran to him. He jumped at Potter who stumbled a bit but managed to catch him and not smash him into the door frame. Harry was very coordinated.

“How on earth did he get in?” Pansy asked in a startled voice, standing up.

“He has a habit of breaking and entering, he’s very naughty,” Granger explained.

“Hello!” Draco said to Potter enthusiastically. “I’m drunk.”

“Hmm, I can see,” Potter stated, calmly.

“You’re upset,” Draco said, pulling Harry’s mouth downwards. “What’s the matter, gorgeous?”

“Well,” Potter answered gently, moving Draco’s hands away from his mouth. “I was having a nice time with someone and they had a meltdown and fucked off.”

Draco frowned. “Are you talking about me?” He then got a bit preoccupied with Potter’s very lovely chest. He patted it and then just started smoothing his hands up and down his pectorals because, honestly, who could resist?

“Can you take him away?” Pansy said to Potter, wafting her hand at them. “I want to smooch with Hermione.”

Granger smiled at Pansy. “Yes, I’d like to be smooched.”

“Ew, stop being so gross. Potter, take me away,” Draco demanded, snuggling into Harry’s very lovely neck.

“Oh, Harry?” Granger peeked out from Pansy’s arms. “I told Draco lots about you tonight … he’s practically an investigative reporter though, so you can’t be cross.”

“Fantastic,” Potter called, leading Draco down the hall.

“Potter, I think you should take your clothes off,” Draco suggested amiably as he skipped along.

“Maybe later,” he said, walking to a different floo. Potter barked out his address and pulled Draco through.

~

Draco woke up. He squinted and struggled to move. His head was pounding horribly and there was something lying across his stomach. It was heavy.

He managed to lift his head up from the pillow and Eric, Potter’s huge russet coloured dog, was staring at him. He wagged his tail in greeting.

It was at that point that Draco came over all funny. He looked around the room. This was Potter’s bedroom. He had uncoordinated furniture and a can of Lynx body spray on his bedside table.

Potter’s duvet cover didn’t match the pillows. Oh god, Draco thought feeling sick and horribly embarrassed.

He managed to shuffle a bit and Eric got the message and slithered off the bed. The dog stretched and yawned and headed out of the bedroom. Draco sat up and was pleased to discover he was at least wearing his pants.

He found his clothes in a pile on the floor. Shoving his trousers on, he held his shirt, shoes and socks in his hand as he prepared to apparate home.

Nothing happened.

Draco narrowed his eyes and did a revelio spell. That bastard had put an anti-apparition ward on his house.

He quickly found the bathroom and was horrified with what he saw in the mirror. Not only was his hair sticking up, making him look insane, he was covered in silver and orange smudges.

Fucking Pansy and her drunk make-overs.

He washed his face thoroughly and dried it on a towel. He then cleaned the mirror, had a wee, tidied up the towels and hung the bathmat over the bath. He drank some water from the tap, organised Potter’s medicine cupboard, brushed his teeth with his finger, and put his crinkled shirt back on. He spelled it smooth and raised his chin in the sparkling mirror.

“You are Draco Malfoy,” he told the mirror. “Get it together.”

~

“What do you mean he’s in your house? As in, he stayed over?” Ron asked from the floo.

Harry rubbed his face. How was this his life? Why did Ron only call at inopportune moments?

“Yeah, he was drunk and I was a bit worried about him vomiting all over himself.” That bit wasn’t necessarily true, but what was he going to say? That he kept Malfoy here because he’s an adorable drunk and he kept trying to take Harry’s clothes off?

The previous day, Harry had spent an hour dithering and wondering what he could do to fix Malfoy’s epic meltdown and then another hour finding out where Draco was. He only got Pansy’s address because he went to see Goyle at the bar, which cost him a signed photo and a ‘celebrity appearance’ at Christmas time.

“And, he’s there now?” Ron whispered.

“Yeah, so can we stop talking about it …”

“I dunno, Harry. What does Hermione think?” asked Ron.

“Well, it was her idea for me to do the interview, I think she likes him.”

“And do you like him, after all the stuff he put us through, and the war …” Ron looked sceptical.

Harry sighed. “It’s all over Ron, you know it was all just this thing that was out of all of our control. I see him now and it’s like I’m meeting him for the first time. He’s still the same person, obviously, he’s just not radicalised anymore. I like him, the way he is. He’s clever and really intuitive. I just want to get to know him and see if there’s anything there … I just want him to myself for a bit, if I’m honest.”

Ron pulled a few faces. “Okay … well … you didn’t do anything weird, like, lock him in, did you?”

“Pah! No! Why would you say that?”

The lounge door swung open and Eric wandered in with a shocked Malfoy behind him.

Great.

“Umm, well, you always were a bit obsessed with him. Remember when you stalked him in sixth year?” Ron couldn’t see Draco, which was fantastic.

Harry wanted to die.

“I have to go,” Harry said, cutting the call with a wave of his wand.

“I’m really hungover,” Malfoy croaked.

“Look, I’m sorry about that … I’m not a serial killer or anything,” Harry said standing up.

There was an awkward silence where they sort of stood and stared at each other. Thankfully Malfoy’s stomach rumbled. “I really need a cup of tea and something disgusting to eat,” Malfoy said.

Excellent, they were just going to ignore the weirdness. Harry smiled. “Right, come to the kitchen and I’ll get you … those things.”

As Harry started to pass, Malfoy put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I think I need to apologise. I was a bit inappropriate with you last night.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

Malfoy blushed and looked at his feet. “Well, I was touching you and … you know, trying to take your clothes off.”

Harry took Malfoy’s hand and placed it on the back of his neck. He lowered his head to Malfoy’s forehead. “You can touch me as much as you like.” He then brushed some kisses on Malfoy’s cheek and pulled back.

Malfoy bit his lip and looked into Harry’s eyes. Wow.

“I’d happily take my clothes off now, if you like?”

Malfoy smiled. “Can you cook first?”

Harry nodded and took Malfoy’s hand, tugging him into the kitchen.

~

They ate bacon and egg sandwiches. Eric was on his bed, banished from sitting at their feet for dribbling. Although, Harry was pretty sure he was dribbling.

Draco Malfoy was gorgeous even with a hangover. Harry was staring.

Malfoy sipped his tea and glanced up to Harry. He gave a weird smile and then cleared his throat whilst putting his tea down.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re staring, Potter. Is there something else I need to apologise for?”

Harry shook his head. “No, you’re just … nice.”

Malfoy looked confused.

“To look at.” He clarified. “You’re nice to look at.” Fucksake.

Malfoy sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Harry … may I call you Harry?”

Only if you want to arouse me. “Umm, yep.”

“Why can’t I apparate out of your house?”

Harry put his sandwich down and cast a quick cleaning charm on his hands. “Well, Draco … can I call you Draco?”

Malfoy smirked. “You may.”

“You remember that you ran away yesterday? After making some unfair assumptions,” continued Harry.

Draco frowned. “No I didn’t, I left a pause and you didn’t say anything. THUS, I read the room and decided to take my leave.”

“You gave me ten seconds to reply - that’s less than the enforcement droid, series 209.”

“What?”

Harry wafted his hand. “It’s from Robocop.”

“What?”

“Look, I’m just saying I had minimal time to answer you.” Harry put a hand through his hair. “Draco, I know it’s been a tough couple of weeks and whatever is happening … here, is probably a bit much. But I don’t really do casual, either. I’ve liked hanging out with you. I want to make you happy.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “You want to make me happy?”

Yeah, that was probably weird.

“I don’t like you being sad. It’s the wrong face.”

Draco processed that for a moment. Amusement took over. “Right, and, just for propriety, what is the right face?”

Harry smiled. “That face. The one where you’re thinking that I’m an idiot.”

The other man smiled, warm silver eyes flitted over Harry’s face.

“You’re an odd duck, Potter. I won’t lie.” Draco resumed eating his sandwich.

Harry watched him for a bit, especially his lips and the way he took small bites. “So, do you have plans today?”

Draco swallowed and took a breath. “Well, Harry,” he said, tearing a piece of kitchen roll off the holder on the table. He wiped his mouth and hands. “I was hoping for a shower, and for you to take me back to bed.”

“Umm, yes. I’d like that.” Harry drank his tea to hide his smile.

~

Draco stepped out of the shower and used Harry’s mouthwash potion. He spat it in the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. “Do not act like a dickhead,” he whispered to his reflection.

With a towel wrapped around his hips he walked into Potter’s bedroom.

Harry was sitting on his freshly made bed in his pants. The very same type of trunks he wore on the photo shoot.

Draco must have been staring. Which meant he was already acting like a dickhead. Dammit.

Harry gestured to his groin. “Umm, Pansy gave me some freebies.”

Gods, Draco would forever be in her debt.

Potter, in the light of day - in real life, was so utterly beautiful, Draco wanted to die. He was brown, with thick slabs of muscle and lots of dark hair. Topped off with the world's most sumptuous package.

Draco remembered to close his mouth but had forgotten how to walk, or talk or just be.

Harry stood up. He placed his glasses on his bedside drawers and put a hand to his neck, showing Draco his glorious bicep and armpit.

An armpit Draco would very much like to burrow into. Which was a thought he hadn’t had before.

“We don’t have to do anything … we could just … stop.”

Nope, not today. If Potter was in his pants, willingly, Draco was going to lick every bloody inch of him.

He snapped out of it and walked forwards, with purpose. He stood in front of Potter and looked up into his eyes. My god, they were beautiful.

“What do you like?” Draco asked in barely a whisper.

Harry searched Draco’s face. He reached down and took Draco’s hands and placed them on his chest. “I like it when you touch me,” he said breathlessly.

Draco glanced at his pale hands on Harry’s big scarred, hairy chest. He smiled and began to stroke him, rubbing his thumbs over Potter’s nipples and smoothing his fingers over Harry’s collarbone and into his hair. Draco raised himself up on his toes and pressed his lips to Harry’s, gratified when Harry’s arms encircled him, pulling him closer.

They kissed reverently. Draco felt like he was finally experiencing true love. He tried to slow down his stupid romantically soppy thoughts, but his heart burst into a million pieces.

Harry Potter was kissing him like he couldn’t get enough. Like he cherished him. Almost as if Draco was precious to him.

What had Potter said to Weasley? I just want him to myself for a bit, if I’m honest.

Yum.

Draco shimmied out of his towel and felt Potter take down his own pants. Leading them backwards, Potter twisted them until Draco was underneath him on the bed. They got comfortable and kissed in the mid-morning sunshine, legs entangled, cocks deliciously close.

It was heavenly.

Potter pulled back, he licked his bottom lip. “This feels … right,” he whispered before brushing kisses over Draco’s neck and jawline.

“I know, it feels … like we’ve done it before.” Draco gasped as Harry slipped his hand under Draco’s bum pressing them so they were even closer together.

“I don’t want you to leave …”

“Oh gods, I won’t.” Draco held Harry tighter, feeling emotional and so aroused he couldn’t take it. “Harry, I need …”

“Right,” Harry said, kissing him again. “Do you want to fuck me, or …?”

“Umm, can you top? Please?” He smoothed his hands down Harry’s broad back and squeezed his buttocks.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, no problem … let me just get you ready.”

“Don’t go anywhere!” Draco said in a panicked voice. If Harry wasn’t on top of him, he’d probably die. “I mean, please stay up here, I need you to be … here.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah, no. I know what you mean.” He huffed out a laugh. He moved to the side and raised Draco’s knee, smoothing his hand over Draco’s bum. He whispered a spell, looking at Draco for permission with his lube covered fingers.

“Yes,” Draco said, kissing Harry’s throat and jaw.

Draco closed his eyes as Harry prepped him. It was slow and intense. They kept kissing and loving each other as Harry slipped his fingers deep. It was all so erotic and such a turn on that Draco couldn’t really talk. He just kept kissing Harry, slipping his tongue into his mouth and trying to encourage him that way.

When Harry lined himself up and pushed inside, Draco saw stars. He was heady and totally losing it. The sun shone brighter and everything was right within the world.

“My fucking god,” Harry gasped as he strained above him. “I’ve never … it’s never …”

Draco was unfairly full, but Harry, of course, was a big boy, he relaxed as much as he could and encouraged Potter to keep going.

It was perhaps the intensity of everything but Draco would attest that fucking Harry Potter, or being fucked by Harry Potter was the closest he would ever get to divinity.

Harry grinned when he was fully in. Draco smiled back at him, stroking Harry’s face.

“You’re incredible,” Harry said.

It was still hard to coherently speak, so Draco leaned up and kissed him, moaning when Harry thrust deeper inside.

It was so good and so right, Draco was making noises he was fairly sure were supremely pornographic. When Harry changed his angle, Draco's head fell back, exposing his throat and he whined like an animal.

“Fuck, look at you,” Harry growled.

Draco was wrapped around Harry, sweaty and meeting his every thrust. His cock was wedged into Harry’s hard belly, it felt utterly earth shattering and he was in no doubt he was going to blow his load.

He tried to stop it, but he was going to come. “Harry, I’m going to …”

Potter reared back and took Draco’s cock in his hand, jerking it neatly in time with his thrusts.

“SWEET FUCK!” Draco shouted, his jizz spitting out in ropes on Potter’s hand. It was like a tidal wave of orgasms. Draco’s fingers dug into Harry’s back as he held on for dear life.

Potter leaned over Draco, still thrusting and wincing. “Fuck, oh gods, Draco … I’m coming … you fucking sexy bastard.”

They collapsed in a heap. Breathing heavily and trying hard to come down.

Harry tried to get up but Draco pulled him back down. “Not yet,” he moaned, stroking the back of Harry’s hair.

“I’m heavy,” came the muffled reply.

“No, it’s glorious,” Draco murmured, holding him tighter.

Finally, Harry moved his face and kissed Draco’s cheek.

“So, I've changed my mind,” Harry said conversationally.

Draco stared at him.

“I’m going to have to keep you here, forever.”

Draco began to breathe again. “You were going to let me leave?”

Harry laughed and nibbled Draco’s earlobe between his teeth. “I was going to allow you to go to work and occasionally see your friends. Now, you just have to stay here. As my sex slave.”

Draco moved so he could kiss Harry’s lips. “I’m not saying it’s a no … but you’ll have to stay as well. In this bed. Naked.”

“Mmm, you’re turning me on again.”

Wow, that was definitely a quick recovery period.

Harry's fingers rubbed softly over Draco’s mouth. “These lips are indecent …”

Draco nibbled one of Harry’s fingers.

“All jokes aside, I really … Well, something happened then, right?” Harry looked at Draco earnestly.

Draco stared into Harry’s impossibly green eyes.

“It felt like making love,” Draco admitted softly.

Harry smiled. His eyes appeared impossibly warmer. “It did.”

“We don’t seem to be able to do anything the easy way …” Draco brushed his fingers across Harry’s face, smoothing his hair away.

Harry rolled, pulling Draco on top of him, squishing his ridiculously impressive erection between them.

“I dunno, Malfoy, you seem pretty easy to me,” Harry said, amusement on his face. He bit Draco’s lower lip and let it go with a pop. “I just need to stuff you with my big cock and you shut the fuck up.”

Draco licked his lips, his own cock taking interest in Potter’s dirty little mouth. “I talk too much anyway,” Draco said leaning down to give Harry a filthy kiss.

~

Goyle’s bar was in the renovated part of Knockturn Alley. It was called The Outside Inn and was made to look like the inside of a huge oak tree. There was a grass covered floor (that was never wet and soggy) and fairy lights in the rafters. It was rustic and charming.

Harry and Draco sat on barstools reading Skeeter's article, whilst Goyle leaned across the bar listening to excerpts from the story.

“Oh, this is poor writing, Rita, what are you doing? She got too excited and has made a right tit of herself …” Draco mused.

Harry smoothed a hand over Draco’s back.

“Listen to this, St James claimed that his relationship with Mr Malfoy was going poorly, ‘I was bored, it wasn’t the same anymore. I couldn’t help it when Potter approached me.’ I mean, there’s nothing there .. it's lifeless.” Draco let the paper fall to the bar.

“And, I didn’t actually approach him. He came over to me!” Harry protested. Draco tapped his leg.

“Aren’t you fucked off he’s gone to the paper?” Greg asked Draco.

“No, no one will be interested. Look, Basil, our editor has bumped her story to page four. Potter and I got the front page just because we were seen in his sexy death machine. Fabian did a great job of this, and it’s not even anything special.” Draco pointed out the picture of Harry opening the door for Draco to get out, both laughing at each other and grabbing a quick kiss in the three second reel.

Draco closed the paper and Greg wandered off to serve someone else.

“You truly don’t mind that he went to Skeeter with what he did?” Harry asked Draco, taking his long fingers in his own hand.

Draco leaned over and brushed a kiss on Harry’s cheek. Rubbing his mouth over the stubble he said he adored.

“No,” Draco shook his head as he pulled back. “I didn’t feel anything for him compared to what I feel for you. I was hurt because I was yearning for something that I was hoping he might give me in the future. You gave it to me straight away.”

“Yeah, I did.” Harry grinned.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be vulgar, Potter.”

Harry took Draco’s jaw in his hand and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. “Good,” he said, pulling away. “I’m glad you don’t mind.”

Draco blinked for a minute and he blushed. He looked down at the brown chunky watch on his wrist, reading the time with a huff. “Where are Granger and Parkinson? They’re so late.”

Harry smirked. “When am I going to get my watch back?”

Draco took a sip of his drink to hide a mischievous smile. “Don’t be silly, Harry. You gave it to me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You said, and I quote. ‘It looks good on you, sweetheart’ …”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean it’s yours!”

Draco tapped Harry’s leg. “Let’s not quarrel - ah, here they are! Why are they coming from the direction of the lavatory instead of the front door?”

Harry peered over at Pansy and Hermione who were both flushed and beaming with soppy smiles as they walked over.

“Fucking pair of dirty sluts!” Draco said whilst he got up to greet them. He squeezed Hermione to him and smoothed out her hair. “Honestly, keep it in your pants!”

“Will you shut your huge fucking mouth, Draco,” hissed Pansy, holding Harry tightly and kissing both his cheeks. “Two G&T’s please, Greggo!” she added.

“What’s the article like?” asked Hermione, accioing a barstool and climbing onto it. She grabbed Harry’s arm to steady herself before flapping out the paper and scanning it greedily.

“It’s sloppy work, Granger. Skeeter got all excited and did a piss poor job. It got bumped to page four,” Draco stated calmly, winding a finger in Harry's curls.

“Oh dear!” Hermione laughed.

“What is that on your wrist?” Pansy said with a wide-eyed grin, pulling Draco’s arm so she could inspect Harry's watch.

Draco wrenched it back. “Don’t touch what you can’t afford,” he said scathingly.

“Pah, I can afford that ten times over, no offence, Potty.” Pansy arched a brow. “Why are you wearing his watch, Draco?”

“He stole it,” Harry said, taking a sip of his Coke.

Draco punched Harry in the leg. “I beg your fucking pardon! You gave it to me!”

“Ow!” Harry said, rubbing his dead leg, because Draco had such prominent, bony knuckles. Little shit.

Pansy was looking at Draco with a warm smile. It was the softer side of Pansy that people rarely saw. “Well, well,” she said.

Draco rolled his eyes, a smile creeping out.

Harry looked up and Hermione was giving him the same look. She smiled and it was like the time she’d recovered from the basilisk all those years ago. That bright smile he loved.

He grinned. “Shut up.”

“So,” Pansy began smoothing down her short skirt. “I’m whisking Granger away next week, to the Caribbean. Now, there’s the small matter of who will be looking after her cat …”

“No!” said Draco, shaking his head vigorously at Harry.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, no problem …”

“Harry, what the fuck, you utter fool. Why on earth would you agree to that?” Draco exclaimed with exasperation.

Harry smiled at him. Gods, he was a fool for this stupid man.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Draco demanded.

Harry kept smiling.

“Harry!”

It was the strangest thing but Harry believed with his whole soul that he and Draco should be together. That there would be no one who would love him the way Draco would, and no one who would love Draco the way Harry would.

He knew it in his bones.

“I can't care 'bout anything but you,” Harry sang.

Draco snorted and leaned across to kiss him.

~