FIC: Chasing Draco (Harry/Draco) - Part 1

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Title: Chasing Draco
Author: dracogotgame 
Prompt: PROMPT 60
Adapted from: Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew
Pairing: Harry/Draco, also featuring Blaise/Ginny, mild Lucius/Andromeda
Word Count/Art Medium: 45, 308
Rating: R
Contains (Highlight to view) : *Nothing major I can think of. Fluff avalanche? Slight angst, perhaps. Slash suggestions *
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I did it. I actually did it! Before I go about thanking everyone who made this possible, I would like to mention that this epic tale has survived twelve rewrites, a complete mental breakdown, a home move and a city wide internet blackout on the very last day. Against all odds, it happened and I can’t tell you what it means to me to see it up here.

First and foremost, my thanks goes to appleling . She outdid herself with this brilliant, fantastic and utterly delicious prompt. As a mod, she has been a goddess- supportive, kind and wonderful. She survived my first breakdown and made sure I made it through and this is all her. As a friend, there are no words. Thank you, darling for being just so wonderful. This is for you- my longest story till date. And I hope you enjoy it, should you ever get through it.

Hugs and unicorns also go out to to blossomdreams for her overall loveliness, brilliant beta-ing and amazing reliability. If it weren’t for her, this fic would not have seen the light of day.

Lastly, my cousin who is sadly not on LJ, and wishes to remain anonymous. This angel sent from heaven underwent a gruelling weekend of spell checks, corrections and last minute freak outs. She made it, as did I. And here is the result before you. I love you, M! Stay golden. And to everyone who reads this, thanks again. You’ve been wonderful to me so far, and I love every one of you. Please treat my little story kindly, I know you will. Cheers!

Summary: Draco Malfoy is every suitor's nightmare. His brazen temper and absolute disregard for the personal safety of others has his father in despair. Enter Harry Potter.



Chasing Draco



Breakfast at Malfoy Manor was a sedate sort of affair. Or at least, Lucius Malfoy - Lord of said Manor - would like to think so. Expensive silverware clinked pleasantly against fine china and the Daily Prophet felt new and crisp in his fingers. Golden sunshine trickled in from the bay windows and bathed the room in a soft morning light, complementing the pleasant conversation at the table. Lucius allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. Everything was in order. In fact, he would go so far to say that everything was just…

Crash!

“Mon cher, please! I only meant…”

“Get out! Get the fuck out of my house now!”

“Really, Draco! This behaviour is most unbecoming of a…wait, what are you doing with that…Draco, no!”

Crash!

“Get! Out!”

A house elf yelped and bolted for the nearest exit, upsetting a suit of armour in the process. Lucius sighed and folded up the Prophet. Seconds later, a series of loud thuds, shrieks and crashes heralded a hasty descend down the Main Staircase and a weedy, young man stumbled into the dining room. His collar was askew, his expensive robes were singed at the hem and Lucius noted - with an arch of his eyebrow and a barely there twitch of his lips - that he was sporting a rather large bump on his forehead.

Apparently, Draco was aiming better these days.

“Lord Beaumont. How nice of you to join us.”

Only decades of diligent practice in the fine art of self restraint could have enabled Lucius to greet his hapless guest with such a politely detached expression.

Augustus Beaumont didn’t have the benefit of such refined training. He just stood there, sputtering with outrage and flushing a very impressive share of magenta. Lucius waited patiently until the man was coherent enough to commence his tirade.

“Manuscripts! Side tables! Silverware! And that’s not all he threw at me!” He gestured wildly to the swelling lump on his head. “That was a First Edition Most Potente Potions which your son used as an assault weapon!”

There was a snort of laughter from the table and Lucius raised a stern eyebrow. Blaise Zabini pressed his mouth in a thin, straight line and closed his eyes, apparently willing himself not to laugh. If Lucius listened carefully, he could almost hear the lad counting to ten. To his immediate right, Andromeda Tonks née Black continued to butter her toast as if nothing was amiss. Nevertheless, there was a quirk to her lips that suggested she was trying very hard not to smile. Lucius gave up and turned back to Beaumont who was by no account, finished.

“…a host of maisons in France! A lineage dating back to the Crusades! An ancestry that would make any pureblood green with envy! And your son treats me like a…like a…”

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘crash test dummy’” Blaise obliged helpfully. “Admittedly, a muggle concept but Draco has it down to a science.”

“Eat your toast, young man,” Andromeda ordered sternly. Lucius gave her a grateful, if slightly weary nod. Blaise smirked and returned to his breakfast and Beaumont treated him to a withering look before turning back to Lucius.

“Consider this courtship rescinded, Lord Malfoy! The Beaumonts know when to cut their losses. Good luck finding a rider for that - that wild horse of yours!”

And with that he stormed off dramatically - the effect somewhat ruined by his smouldering robes and shaky gait. Lucius sympathized deeply. Most Potente Potions was a formidable piece of work. He would know - it had been Narcissa’s weapon of choice. Thoughts of his late wife sent a twist of pain to his chest and he distracted himself by glaring at Blaise, who had succumbed to gales of laughter.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked dryly as the boy howled with mirth, thumping helplessly at the table. Andromeda watched the scene with a quiet expression that was certainly not approval, but she didn’t seem less amused for lack of it.

Finally Blaise emerged, gulping in deep breaths of air as he did. “I doubt it,” he admitted with a grin that made Lucius wish he hadn’t completely given up the Dark Arts. He subjected the impudent brat to his best Malfoy Glare. There was another crash from the North Wing, followed by a snarling diatribe on pompous wankers and just what they could do with their oversized egos…

Lucius shook his head hopelessly. “Make yourself useful and see if you can calm him down,” he ordered flatly.

Blaise promptly stopped his sniggering. “Excuse me?” he blurted, looking absolutely horrified. “Did you not get a good look at the last bloke who went down that rabbit hole? I don’t know what you look for in a good heart to heart but I happen to prefer mine concussion free!”

Lucius opened his mouth to argue and/or hex the annoying little snip, but Andromeda mercifully cut in. “I’ll have a word with my nephew,” she announced, standing up and making her way towards the stairs. She turned and smiled at Lucius. “Cissa had her moods as well. On a good day, I could talk her out of a strop.”

Lucius chuckled. “Let’s hope it’s a good day then,” he commented. Andromeda’s smiled again, and then she was gone. Blaise watched her leave intently, waiting until she was well out of sight before emitting a low whistle. “Morgana’s lacy underpants! If I was twenty years older and a foot taller, I’d… ow!” He rubbed his head ruefully and glowered at Lucius. “What’s that for?”

“Inappropriate breakfast conversation and leering at my guests,” Lucius supplied, rubbing his hand. “Additionally, I find you annoying.”

“So that’s where Draco gets it from,” Blaise remarked sulkily.

“Hardly,” Lucius replied. “He has his mother’s spirit.” His steely eyes softened slightly and even an ever tactful fellow like Blaise could sense the need for a change of subject. Thankfully, there was another crash from upstairs as Draco discovered an unfortunate something that had somehow survived his rampage. Blaise chuckled. “So, I take it we need to find another rider for your wild horse. I’ll spread the word, shall I?”

Lucius groaned and buried his head in his hands. Blaise smirked and resumed his breakfast. He never said it was a good change of subject...

****

Andromeda swept up the marble staircase and made her way over to the West Wing. She suppressed a slight smile. Draco’s rooms were always the easiest to find in the Manor. All you had to do was follow the sound of an utter and absolute conniption fit.

She did exactly that and found herself walking a familiar path.

Her nephew was in his half decimated study, pacing like a caged jungle cat. His slim frame was taut with tension and his silver eyes were dark and clouded, giving the impression of a raging thunderstorm. A dark glare marred his patrician features and his blond hair fell over his eyes as he clenched his fists. To the uninformed observer he looked absolutely livid, the very personification of blinding, murderous rage. To Andromeda - who had had the benefit of dealing with Narcissa’s volatile mood swings for the better part of her youth - this barely qualified as a temper tantrum.

“Well, we won’t be seeing him again in a hurry,” she commented lightly. Draco whipped around to face her, his features morphing from scowling displeasure to relief when he saw who had intruded into his quarters. Some of the tension left his shoulders.

“I thought you were Father,” he muttered. He walked over to a chair, the broken glass crunching under his leather loafers as he seated himself in a chair. Shrewd, grey eyes swept her face searching for some sort of a reprimand for his behavior. Andromeda smiled and took a seat next to the boy.

“I think he’ll keep his distance for a while,” she smiled, slipping a slender hand over his. “Your Father has a remarkable sense of self preservation.”

Draco’s lips quirked but he returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze of his own. “So he sent you into the dragon’s lair? That sounds about right.”

“I volunteered,” Andromeda retorted dryly. “Believe it or not nephew, but you’re not as tough as you look.”

“Says you,” Draco smirked, nudging her gently with his shoulder. It was a simple gesture - one of trust - and Andromeda appreciated it. She was a woman who treasured her family and it had nearly killed her to walk away from them all those years ago. But those had been different times. She had been young and in love and Ted - bless him - had been wonderful to her. The War had taken him and not long after, Narcissa’s illness had set in. She had never felt so utterly bereft, so completely alone.

Lucius’ letter had come as a shock, to say the least. Not one to offer forgiveness lightly - particularly to the man who had kept her from her sister for a good twenty years - she had Incendio-ed it on the spot. Then another had come and another and another and long story short, Lucius Malfoy proved without a shadow of a doubt that as far as persistence and sheer stubbornness went, Malfoys trumped Blacks hands down.

She finally succumbed to his seventh letter. For someone with very little experience with humility and contrite apologies, he managed beautifully. Andromeda found herself writing back. In his quiet loneliness, she recognized a kindred spirit and in Draco she saw glimpses of the sister she had lost, this time for good. Four years since that first awkward meeting and Andromeda had come to the realization that they were the last of her family. And she didn’t have it in her to turn her back on them.

Especially Draco. She sifted a gentle hand through the boy’s hair, pushing the blond strands out of his eyes with her fingers. Draco sighed and leaned into the gesture, making her smile fondly. “So just out of curiosity, why was a certain Lord Beaumont evicted from your quarters sans ceremony?”

Draco huffed petulantly. “He’s lucky I didn’t hex him.”

“That, I believe,” Andromeda mused. “I assume he put his foot in it something proper then?”

Draco smirked. “Let’s just say his choice in literature leaves a lot to be desired,” he drawled, passing her a rumpled leather bound book, bent at one of the edges. Not surprising, considering it had recently been used as a launch missile…

“The Taming of the Shrew?” she groaned, reading the title. “Oh, he didn’t…”

“Oh, he did,” Draco drawled. “He thought it would be funny to give me that as a courting gift. Suffice it to say, I did not see the humor in it.”

Andromeda shook her head and tossed the book away, well out of sight. Honestly, of all the idiotic things to do… well, it was probably for the best. Beaumont had been a particularly vile specimen and Draco had resented him from the start. He was hardly worthy of a Malfoy. But then her nephew had rejected almost every man to walk through those doors. It shouldn’t be a surprise that they were scraping the bottom of the barrel now…

“They’re probably not going to get much better,” she admitted. “Your suitors, that is.”

“Then perhaps I shouldn’t be forced to deal with them,” Draco snapped, standing up abruptly and starting to pace. “I’m sick of them - witless, spineless, arrogant, bleating twits who think they can have me, that they’re entitled to me just because they’re Lord this or Baron that or whatever. Thinking they have the right to stand there in my presence and tell me that I should feel honoured that they’re considering me. Talking about how it’s the best decision for me considering the Malfoy name is what it is since the War and…” He broke off, apparently too enraged to even finish his tirade. Andromeda sighed and shook her head.

“Oh Draco,” she said softly. “It’s not as bad as that. Sooner or later, the right man will find his way to you and things will change.”

“I don’t care!” Draco snarled, whirling back at her. “I am not some cheap trophy to be won at a fair game!”

Andromeda kept her expression neutral as he glared witheringly at her. Finally, the boy hunched his shoulders and retreated. He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, messing it up completely. “I’m sorry, Andromeda. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I hate this whole charade. I hate them all, every single one of them. It makes me furious and… and now I’m taking it out on you. Please don’t be angry with me? I just…”

“Of course not,” Andromeda interrupted him softly. She stood up as well and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’re my nephew and I love you like a son. I want the best for you, you know that don’t you?” She smiled as he nodded quietly. “Then please just trust me. I know you don’t like this, I know you’re upset. But you deserve to find someone who will make you happy. That’s all we want for you. Now there’s a gentleman your father would like you to meet this evening…” She paused and waited politely until he stopped groaning. “Yes I know. That being said, he seems… better than the others.”

“Really?” Draco demanded dryly.

“No,” she admitted. “But at least he’s your age. And it will do you good to get out of the house for a while. Who knows, he might just surprise you.”

Draco snorted inelegantly. “I doubt it.”

“What do you have to lose?” the older witch shrugged. She crossed her arms firmly, standing her ground until the sulking boy was forced to relent for once.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he muttered. “But if it all goes to Hades, it’s your fault.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed. “I’ll go and tell your Father the worst is over.” She kissed his cheek affectionately and turned to leave. “And remember Draco,” she added, facing her nephew again. “If he can’t handle you at your worst, he definitely doesn’t deserve you at your best.”

Draco’s grin would have frozen a Basilisk. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

****

Harry James Potter stomped down the corridors of Chudley Cannons Inc. looking particularly grim. One might even say that he was pissed off, except that one would be dead wrong. Dealing with a murderous Dark Lord for seven straight years had pissed Harry off. Losing the World Cup to Puddlemere United on the other hand, made him fucking furious. Plus, it didn’t help that he was being doggedly pursued by the last person he wanted to see under any circumstances- unless a casket and shovel was involved.

“So Potter, any comment on your devastating loss to Puddlemere United? The readers would love to know how you plan to stage a comeback from this shocking fall from grace.”

“Go away, Rita.”

“Are you planning on switching teams? Mind you, I’m talking about Quidditch here but while we’re on that subject, word has it that you’ve been cruising around town with a string of new boy toys. We’d love to put names to those cute faces.”

Harry stopped short and gaped incredulously at the infuriating woman. “How have you not been lynched yet?” It was a sincere question - hell, he’d do it for a Sugar Quill.

“Talent, Potter,” Skeeter replied smugly as she adjusted her spectacles and wielded that damned Quick Notes Quill of hers. “Something you’re probably not all that familiar with considering the Cannons’ dismal performance this season. Do you blame your captain? Your teammates? Perhaps a new lover is a cause for distraction? How about …”

Harry couldn’t take any more. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He turned around to face the infuriating reporter and promptly groaned.

“Damn it,” he snapped, gesturing exasperatedly at something behind her. “Who told the shirtless male models to show up today for the new campaign?” Rita squeaked and whirled around at once, giving Harry just enough time to turn tail and bolt for the nearest door. He slammed it shut and put up eight different locking charms before pressing himself against it for good measure.

“Alone at last,” he sighed in relief.

“Yeah, not quite,” a voice replied promptly. Harry yelped and cast a frantic Lumos, immediately sagging against the door again when he caught a glance of his cubby buddy. “Oliver,” he greeted his morose team captain. “What the hell are you doing in a broom closet?”

Oliver Wood sighed tragically. “What am I doing in a broom closet, he asks. What does anyone do in broom closets, Harry?”

“Erm…”

“I am - as is customary in broom closets - reflecting on my shattered dreams, my broken hopes, the tragic comedy my life has become,” Oliver informed him tonelessly.

“Oh,” Harry felt obliged to say. “That.”

“Plus that Skeeter woman’s out there and she scares me.”

“Join the club,” Harry muttered, flopping down beside him. They sat together in the companionable silence that only blazing victories or grim defeat ever seem to inspire. The only noise came from Skeeter who was still banging up and down the corridors, looking for another hapless victim. Oliver sighed. So did Harry.

“We lost the Cup,” Oliver mumbled.

“I’m aware of that,” Harry retorted dryly. He was still feeling rather touchy about the whole thing.

“You caught the Snitch,” Oliver continued undeterred. “And we still lost the sodding Cup.”

Harry bristled. “I hear that can happen when your Chaser decides to host an impromptu rendition of Swan Lake mid pitch.”

“Hey, it’s not Heidi’s fault her broom spun out of control,” Oliver said sagely. “Poor kid’s riding a Nimbus, for Merlin’s sake. And ease up on the dance cracks, yeah? Last I heard she gave Andrew a black eye for running his mouth.”

Training for the ballet, Potter?

“Yeah, I can see how that could be annoying,” Harry admitted. “Still sucks though. You know what hurts the most? We have the talent, the best sodding players in the game and we lost because of a busted broomstick.”

“You’re telling me,” Oliver grumbled. “Sponsors are fucking bastards is what the problem is. They take one look at the score sheet and they run. It’s always the same. The Cannons haven’t won a game in a century, they say. Why haven’t we won a game in a century, you ask? Because we have lousy fucking brooms, that’s why!”

Harry scowled at a rusty bucket, mentally willing it to turn into a pile of galleons. “How much do we need anyway? For new equipment and all that?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand, scribbling in thin air. Harry swallowed at the golden number shimmering in front of him. “That’s a lot of zeros,” he said finally.

“And that’s just new equipment,” Oliver muttered bitterly. “If we can’t even cover that, it’s goodbye Cannons.” He shook his head and got up, dusting himself off. “Well don’t let it bother you, Harry. Head in the game, yeah? Something will work out. Always does, in my experience.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. Frankly, he didn’t feel all that positive. And he was sick of losing, just because. But there was no point arguing with Oliver about it. So he said goodbye to his captain and decided to head out into civilization again. A night out was in order to forget this hellish day. Maybe that place with the cute blond bartender... Harry grinned. Life was starting to look a little better.

“Potter, Potter, Potter. Coming out of the closet again? You do make a habit of things.”

So much for the day looking better.

Harry found himself scowling at a very familiar, very annoying set of features. “Right,” he drawled. “Because this is a broom closet and I’m coming out of it. Hysterical, Zabini. You slay me. Now go away before I return the favour.”

Zabini - arse that he was - took this as an invitation to walk alongside him, chortling all the way. Harry despaired. It was just that sort of day. “Who let you in here anyway?” he grumbled. “This is a strictly Puddlemere Prat free zone.”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Zabini replied blithely. “Thought I’d stop by and say hello. Also, we won and you lost. Neener neener and all that.”

“Very original,” Harry replied dryly, raising an eyebrow at the Puddlemere chaser. “At least Malfoy’s insults always rhymed.”

Zabini raised an eyebrow of his own. “He had a lot of practice. Funny you should mention him out of the blue.”

“He tends to pop into my head when I come across something particularly unpleasant,” Harry retorted, giving the Italian chaser a pointed look. Zabini didn’t retort. He was looking thoughtfully at Harry, almost as if he was... analyzing him. Harry could think of few prospects less pleasant than being analyzed by a former Slytherin. “That’s your cue to go away,” he added helpfully.

Zabini started slightly, then shook himself and smirked. “Because I’m just dying for your company, Potter. Believe me, I have better things to do. People to see. Trophies to polish.”

“Don’t let me keep you.” Harry smirked back. “Have fun ‘polishing your trophy’. And when you’re done with that, try a cleaning charm on the Cup.”

Blaise chuckled, caught somewhere between amusement and surprise. “I always liked you, Potter.”

“Likewise. Oh and just so you know Zabini, if you want that Cup next season, you’re going to have to fight for it. Because I’m going after it with everything I’ve got.”

Zabini’s grin widened. “I’ll hold you to that, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Say hi to Malfoy for me.” And then he was gone.

****

Blaise watched Potter’s retreating back, making a mental note of his confident stride and quiet intensity. There was something about the man that appealed to his inner Slytherin. A fire smouldering beneath all that sweetness-and-light shite.

Interesting.

Blaise’s smirk made a reappearance as he made for the nearest fireplace.

Seconds later, Lucius’ irritable scowl flickered in the flames. “This better be good, Blaise,” the older man snapped. “I was in the middle of something imp...”

“It is,” Blaise cut in smoothly. He grinned as Lucius’ eyes flickered with mild interest. “I found him.”

****

“How about another one, handsome? It’s on the house.”

Harry blinked blearily at the pretty thing currently flashing him a billion galleon grin. The blond batted his lashes coquettishly and shot him a come hither look. He’d have been more subtle if he’d been waving a flag that said “Do me in the men’s!” in Harry’s face. The Boy Who Lived groaned and thunked his head against the bar.

“He’ll take it,” his companion replied cheerfully. “And make it a mint julep, will you, hon?”

The boy nodded eagerly and took off; leaving Harry to scowl at the redhead sprawled beside him. Ginny gave him an unrepentant grin and swiped his beer. “That’s the fourth free drink in two hours,” she chirped happily. “And I didn’t even have to flash anyone! This gay ex-boyfriend thing is seriously underrated.”

“I’m so glad you’re having fun pimping me out,” Harry groused. “No really, it’s what I live for.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette with her wand. “At least pretend to be having a good time, Harry. For Merlin’s sake, you’re out with me. Most men would kill to be in your shoes.”

Harry grinned. That much, at least was true. Ginny was a gorgeous woman, all fire and curves and flirty smiles. Frankly, it had freaked him out something awful when he realized he wasn’t as into her as he should be. In hindsight, that should have been a sign. Nevertheless it had taken six awkward months of post War dating and an unfortunate, drunken night with Justin Finch-Fletchley to put things in perspective for him.

Ginny had forgiven him easily enough, as had the other Weasleys. Okay, so George had slipped him a Nosebleed Nougat a couple times, but all in all it had been pretty easy coming out to them. Now Ginny was as good a mate as they came and Harry at least, felt that they were closer than ever. Ron and Hermione were amazing, but they had little Hugo taking up every waking moment of their lives now. Their own little family, while Harry had a losing Quidditch team and a string of one night stands. Merlin, that was depressing. He sighed and glowered morosely at his beer.

“Right, that’s it,” Ginny declared, flicking the cigarette away carelessly. “All this whining and moping is ruining my night. You,” she declared, slamming down the beer (Harry’s beer) and fixing him with her I’m not taking your crap anymore look, “...are getting shagged tonight if it’s the last thing you do.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, because that’s my problem.”

“What is your problem?” Ginny demanded. “You’re rich, you play Quidditch, you saved the world for Merlin’s sake - why can’t you just get laid and be happy about it like the rest of us?”

“I don’t know. It’s a little more complicated than that,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “I mean, it gets old after a while. All I’ve been doing for five years is riding broomsticks and chasing snitches...”

“And that’s just your sex life.”

“You’re disgusting. And I’m ignoring you. What I mean is... is this it? Playing Quidditch and having meaningless sex with barely legal airheads. You could write my life down on a napkin.” He sighed and shook his head, trying to ignore the alcohol induced haze. “After a while you start asking yourself... what’s left? Where’s the challenge? What the hell am I doing?”

“Oh please,” Ginny retorted. “You’re bloody morbid is what you are. So you want the happily ever after with the white picket fence and a crup running in the yard. Who doesn’t? I mean look at Ron and Hermione, they’re so happy. Ron’s always got a huge smile on his face.” She scowled petulantly. “Merlin, it makes me want to punch him.”

Harry couldn’t help a tired chuckle. “I know. It’s what I want though. I’m just so damn tired of looking.”

“Well you can’t stop now,” Ginny announced firmly. “For all you know, Prince Charming is right here in this bar and you’re can’t be bothered to get your head out of your arse. Now shut it. I’m going to find your future husband and you’re going to buy him a drink.”

Harry groaned. “Ginny...”

“Shh,” she waved him off, craning her neck to get a look around the bar. She swivelled around with easy grace and promptly froze. “Oh damn.”

Harry did not like the sound of that. “What?” he demanded.

Ginny turned to him, grinning ominously. “I found him.”

Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow and turned as well, trying to get a good look at her latest victim. A flash of unmistakably blond hair assaulted his vision. Sharp features. Pale, smooth skin. Silver eyes. Harry blinked. Then he swallowed and took a deep breath. Neither helped. They rarely did with Draco Malfoy.

“Rather fit, isn’t he?” Ginny mused, sweeping an approving glance over Malfoy - who was apparently seated at a table as if he had every right to be there and turn Harry’s world upside down without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

That being said, Ginny wasn’t wrong. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy in years. They hardly travelled in the same circles and frankly, Harry had little reason to seek out his old school rival. Now though, as he took in Malfoy’s lithe frame, his patrician features and that fine, fine arse he wondered if looking him up would have been the worst thing in the world.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Harry was promptly startled out of his less than innocent musings and turned to face a vaguely amused Ginny. “What?” he managed.

“Well, it’s Malfoy,” she chortled, shaking her head as if the notion was ridiculous. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

Trouble. Harry could do trouble. He could do Malfoy too, but that was a different story. “I’m going over there,” he declared, eyes still fixed on the blond.

“Yes, you do that,” Ginny snorted. “I’ll just stay here, far far away from the firing zone.”

Harry ignored her and slipped off his stool. His footsteps quickened as he approached Malfoy. Damn, but he looked good. What had it been? Five years? Six? Nothing had changed, really. It felt like he was in Hogwarts all over again. Just looking at Malfoy made him want to storm up to him, grab him by that prissy silk shirt and attack him with his fists and his lips and... okay, so maybe some things had changed.

He was barely halfway across the bar when someone else broke into the Malfoy zone. Harry stopped short as a tall, dark haired bloke slinked over and placed a hand on the blond’s shoulder. Malfoy turned and greeted the stranger with a nod. The man grinned and slipped in beside him. Harry froze, standing still as a rock as the stranger’s hand travelled up Malfoy’s leg. He leered and whispered in the blond’s ear. Malfoy sneered in response, which only seemed to encourage his companion. Harry felt his fists clench and something in his chest growled warningly as the man barged further and further into Malfoy’s space. The growling turned into an all out roar as he reached out suddenly to grab Malfoy’s chin and pull him into a kiss.

Harry snarled out aloud, inexplicably furious at this turn of events. He hadn’t even been aware of Malfoy’s existence until a minute back, and now he was physically fighting the urge to yank that bastard away from the blond and grind him into the pavement. The roaring was so loud he was surprised everybody couldn’t hear it and...

And then it happened.

Malfoy pushed the stranger back and his eyes narrowed with sheer, unbridled rage. It all happened so quickly that Harry would have missed it if he had thought to blink. Malfoy swiped a wine glass and promptly emptied what was no doubt a rather expensive Cabernet all over Lover Boy.

Harry’s jaw dropped and for a second, he was too stunned to even register the thrill running up his spine.

And then the bloke roared and lunged at Malfoy and Harry found himself running head first into the fray.

****

It had taken Draco precisely three and a half minutes to decide that he absolutely loathed Roland Blake. In said time frame, the man had leered at him, made any number of tasteless comments, ordered the wrong wine and spent the remainder of his time perfecting the art of being an arrogant, entitled, self important worm.

“It does get tedious, of course. It’s not like I asked for the physique of a model and the stamina of a racehorse...”

Draco kept his gaze firmly on his fork, trying to remind himself that stabbing someone in the throat was frowned upon in polite society.

“But enough about me,” Blake blathered on. He fixed Draco with an insolent grin that made the blond stiffen. “I’d rather talk about the reason we’re having this little tête-à-tête wouldn’t you, kitten?”

Draco’s eyebrow twitched. “I have a name, Blake,” he gritted. “Use it.”

Blake smirked. “Of course, Draco. Although if I may be so bold, I prefer ‘kitten’. After all,” a hand dropped down to Draco’s leg and traced an idle pattern. “It suits you to a hilt.”

“Is that supposed to be charming?” Draco spat, shifting away. The hand on his leg tightened a fraction and Blake’s hand snaked around his waist, pulling him uncomfortably close.

“Oh, I can do charming,” he purred. “Whatever it takes, so long as I have you on your back and me between your...”

That was the proverbial last straw. Draco snarled and pushed back, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this... this excrescence. Blake staggered and teetered in his chair, giving Draco just enough time to grab a glass and subject Blake to a face full of his deplorable choice of wine. There was an audible splash and a hushed silence ensued as every eye in the bar turned on them. Somewhere the whirring click of a camera sounded. Great. The Prophet was going to have a field day with this.

Draco wasn’t the least bit bothered. All he cared about was making Roland Blake pay. Besides, he had a lifetime of making public scenes behind him and one more was hardly going to ruin his sterling reputation.

“The hell you will,” Draco spat, hatred radiating off of him in waves. Blake blinked stupidly, still dripping. A drop trailed its way down his chin and Draco smirked as he wiped at his face in disbelief. Whatever he had expected, that hadn’t been it. Then Blake’s face contorted in rage and he was lunging for the blond with a howl. “I’m gonna kill you, you little...”

Draco backed up against the bar, intending to get enough space to retrieve his wand. Unfortunately, Blake had other ideas. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the slender blond cornered against the bar and he growled and extended a meaty hand, clearly intending to grab Draco by the collar and haul him forward. Draco steeled himself, prepared to go down fighting if he had to - a likely possibility considering that Blake had at least two stone over him. His heart hammered as a fist flew towards him. Meaty fingers were just inches away from Draco and then... then a firm hand closed around Blake’s wrist, wrenching his arm back before he could even touch Draco. The blond blinked as the man was firmly hauled back, bellowing all the way.

“Oi! What the...”

“Not the best idea in the world, mate,” the intruder said smoothly situating himself between the two men. Draco blinked as he was presented with a lean, toned back, broad shoulders and a messy mop of dark hair. Interesting. He shifted discreetly, trying to get a glimpse of his saviour. He certainly sounded familiar... not to mention, intriguing. Very intriguing.

Blake wasn’t quite so taken. He was leaning more to the side of fucking furious. “Get out of my way, mate,” he spat, trying to wrench his hand free. “This is between me and that...”

“Perhaps you misunderstood me,” the other drawled. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around Blake’s wrist and the man winced. “Touch the blond and I’ll beat the shite out of you in front of all these nice people. Now I suggest you take what’s left of your dignity and Get. Out.”

Draco shivered slightly. Obviously, he was experiencing the after effects of shock after almost attacked. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the man’s low, possessive growl and the clench of his fist - suggesting that he’d like nothing better than to tear Blake apart with his bare hands if he so much as looked at Draco again. No, it was definitely the shock and... and... yeah, all of that.

Blake seemed to be contemplating his options. His eyes flicked from his opponent to Draco to the crowd milling about them. Draco watched with bated breath, as did the rest of the pub. Finally, Blake took a step back, scowling as he retreated. He turned to shoot one last, hateful look at Draco. “This isn’t over, Malfoy,” he spat.

The man growled and pushed him roughly, shoving him into a table. “You don’t talk to him anymore, creep. You go through me, got it?”

Draco resolutely ignored that damned shiver. Blake spat and turned on his heel. Draco watched him storm out of the pub, sagging against the bar. The other patrons shuffled about and dispersed quietly, whispering and shooting him dark looks. Another whirring click of a camera. Draco sighed and rubbed his face wearily with his hand. Talk about embarrassing. Oh, Father was going to love tomorrow’s Prophet...

“Alright there?”

Draco nodded shakily, unwilling to make eye contact. A conversation with the man who’d just swooped in and saved him like some sort of damsel in distress was not exactly what his ego needed right now. No, hiding behind his hand was infinitely better. Now if he could just harness the self-will to just Apparate away and never, ever set foot in public again...

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone.” The voice was softer now. Concerned. Draco started as firm but gentle fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist, carefully prying his hand away. “Can you look at me, please? I feel like I’m scaring you.”

The blond shook his head vehemently. He was definitely not scared. Just mortified. Somewhat dazed. Maybe a little turned on… he started at the amused chuckle from his new companion. “Then could you maybe look at me, Malfoy?”

Malfoy? Draco frowned. That was odd. No one had addressed him by his last name since school. Hell, the last person who had called him that was...

Oh no.

Oh dear Merlin, no.

Suddenly it was all came together. Badly. Very badly. Head pounding and heart hammering, Draco looked up into unmistakable green eyes.

Merlin on a pogostick.

“Potter,” he croaked. His throat felt very parched all of a sudden. Of course. Of course it would be Potter. Why bloody not?

“It’s been a while,” Potter chuckled. “Still can’t stay out of trouble, I see.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing. Unfortunately, his mental faculties had somewhat deserted him in the face of Potter showing up and saving him. Again.

Potter was looking him over now, apparently assessing him for injuries. His gaze raked over Draco, intense and calculating. He cocked his head, continuing his somewhat... dispassionate examination. The blond immediately crossed his arms, feeling rather discomfited by such blatant scrutiny. Then again, Potter had always discomfited him. The prat.

“You don’t look hurt,” said prat mused, frowning. “I don’t think that bastard actually touched you. But I should probably take a look at...”

He extended a hand, obviously intending to pull the blond forward for a more thorough search. At that, Draco lost his fragile hold on his self control. “Don’t touch me!” he snarled, pushing the taller man away with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed. Potter stumbled, reaching back to steady himself against a table. Draco took advantage of the momentary distraction and fled from the pub.

Vaguely, he heard Potter calling his name. It only made him run faster, bolting to the nearest Apparition Point.

His lone comfort as he Apparated back to the Manor was that humiliating as the night had been, at least he won’t have to deal with seeing Potter again.

Not a chance in hell.

****

“Malfoy, wait!”

The blond was out the door and running before Harry could get back on his feet. He steadied himself and took a deep breath, trying to sort things out in his head. Damn but Malfoy had caught him by surprise. That boy was like an explosion waiting to happen.

His memory flitted with recent images of the Slytherin. Malfoy snarling, grey eyes flaring and lips curled in a defensive sneer. Words as sharp as the hexes he was more than capable of throwing. And apparently, he wasn’t afraid of a little physical altercation either. Harry rubbed his side. He must have bruised himself on the table when Malfoy pushed him. His blood flared as he remembered Malfoy’s hands on his chest, pale fingers separated from his skin by a thin t-shirt and nothing else. It was... something. Passion and anger and just plain fight. Harry emitted a low whistle. He liked it.

And he was gone. Damn it, he couldn’t let him run off like that!

He was almost ready to sprint after the blond (possibly yell at him for attacking him or snog him senseless, he hadn’t decided yet) when he felt someone pull him back. “Slow down, Lover Boy,” Ginny drawled. “That ship has sailed.” She hauled him back easily. Sometimes it scared him how such a tiny girl could be so strong. He tried to shake himself free. “But I...”

“But nothing, Harry,” she said firmly. “He’s gone. You can’t chase after him like some deranged stalker. And speaking of deranged...” She lifted a deceptively petite hand and smacked him on the back of the head.

“What were you thinking, almost starting a brawl like that?!” she demanded. “Merlin Harry, have you lost your mind?! I am telling Mum...”

“He was going to attack him!” Harry protested. “And ouch with the hitting!”

“Sorry,” she snapped, rubbing her hand. “And you’re a right moron if you think he appreciated it. I saw him push you. What a bitch.”

“Yeah well, that’s him,” Harry chuckled. Honestly, he was more amused than indignant. It was just so Malfoy. “Right little spitfire, isn’t he? Think it’s too soon to owl him?”

Ginny gaped at him. “We’re going home,” she declared flatly. “You’ve obviously suffered a concussion.” She shoved his coat at him and grabbed his arm, pulling him out firmly. Harry followed obediently, too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blond to protest. “Some night, this,” he said finally.

“Yeah well, at least its over,” Ginny muttered. Harry smirked and she stopped to give him a look. He raised an eyebrow and she groaned. “It’s not over, is it?”

Harry smirked. “Not a chance in hell.”

****

Lucius sat in his study, listening to the familiar sounds of family heirlooms being hurled unceremoniously at the walls.

Crash!

There went another one - possibly a present from a Great Aunt or something... he rubbed his temples. It was one in the morning - far too late for this nonsense. He didn’t even want to know what Draco was having a strop about this time. He had come raging in about an hour ago and had promptly barricaded himself in his room after kicking out the house elves. As far as Lucius was concerned, the whole charade was exhausting. He didn’t even register the slim fingers brushing against his wrist, until his hand was gently pulled away.

“He’s in a fine mood tonight,” Andromeda commented. Her touch was gentle to his frayed nerves and he noted - as any worthy Slytherin would - that her thumb was absently rubbing his wrist, fluttering against the pulse point. It was... oddly soothing.

Crash!

“Did he say anything to you?” he asked her.

“Just something about never taking my advice again,” she quipped dryly. “Which reminds me, I do recall telling you that Roland Blake was a terrible prospect to begin with.”

“Ah. The secret weapon of all womankind. The infamous I told you so,” Lucius drawled. “Narcissa was quite adept at that.”

“I taught her well,” Andromeda replied with a laugh, but she removed her hand from his all the same. He refused to acknowledge the pang of disappointment. Instead, he focused himself on the sounds of his son decimating what was left of his room.

“Perhaps I should just give up,” he mused. “The boy is clearly... unstable. And certainly not ready for marriage.”

“Lucius!” Andromeda protested at once. “Draco is certainly not unstable. He’s just...”

“A raging pit of fathomless fury?” Lucius intoned.

The witch rolled her eyes. “I was going to say ‘difficult’. He’s young, Lucius. And stubborn and opinionated and proud. He needs someone who can manage him. Deal with him.”

“What he needs is a leash and shock collar.”

“Lucius Malfoy! That is my nephew you’re talking about!” He almost chuckled at her look of indignation. Andromeda huffed, her thoughtful frown deepening. “Perhaps you should consider giving him some time. Instead of throwing random - and might I add - useless suitors at him who run for the hills the second things become a little rough.”

He was about to respond that having a side table hurled at one’s frontal cortex was hardly his definition of ‘a little rough’, when a familiar intruder barged in, interrupting them.

“Do you not have a home of your own?” Lucius demanded. “If memory serves your mother acquired a charming little chateau from her last husband. Might I suggest barging in there unannounced in the dead of the night?”

“Well!” Blaise sniffed disparagingly. “See if I do you any favours again.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow and the younger man smirked, tossing some photographs on the table. “They were going to run them in tomorrow’s Prophet,” he explained. “I had to Confound a few people, but there you have it. You’re welcome.”

Lucius sifted through the photographs carefully, Andromeda leaning in to peer curiously as well. By the time they had finished, the older witch was wide eyed and apparently speechless. Even Lucius’ schooled mask was somewhat strained.

“How did you come by these?” Andromeda asked carefully.

“I have an… understanding with the Prophet’s Editor in Chief,” Blaise smirked. “Gwen is most accommodating. Very, very accommodating actually…”

“Spare me the details of your latest fling, Zabini,” Lucius intoned flatly. “And tell me what these are all about.”

“Well, they sort of speak for themselves, don’t they?” Blaise said cheerily, taking the pictures and flipping them on the table one by one. “There’s Blake starting to act a little fresh with our young Draco - terrible fellow, by the way. He supports the Falmouth Falcons, can you imagine? Oh and there’s our Draco in full form, responding with a somewhat questionable Cabernet. And then there’s this one, my personal favourite…”

“Potter,” Lucius cut in, his eyes roving the picture of the young man. It was definitely Potter. He had situated himself firmly between Draco and his attacker. His hand was around Blake’s wrist, holding him back as he shielded Draco from what promised to be a brutal altercation. And, Lucius noted with keen interest, the boy looked furious. His profile was rigid, his eyes were flashing and his jaw was clenched. The picture moved and Potter flung Blake back easily. He looked… predatory.

“I told you he was your man,” Blaise put in smugly. Lucius’ lip curled up in a silent smirk. This was… promising.

“Indeed,” he drawled. Very promising.

Andromeda raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Lucius? Just what are you plotting now?”

“Why nothing, my dear,” Lucius answered smoothly. “It’s just struck me that it’s been a while since I took in a Quidditch match. Zabini, surely you can arrange something?”

“I’ll be glad to,” Blaise chuckled. Andromeda sighed and buried her face in a slim hand. This would not end well.

****

“Damn it, Heidi!” Oliver howled; dodging as an errant Cleansweep spun right across the goal post. “Watch where you’re steering!”

“Piss off, Wood! You try getting this thing to fly straight!”

Harry dodged a Bludger with practiced ease but he couldn’t bring himself to search for the Snitch. Practice was a disaster and just the sight of his ramshackle team was enough to send him spiralling into depression. It was horrible. The broomsticks were practically in splinters, the Beaters bats were falling apart and he was pretty sure that Bludger was drunk. It was spinning around in circles now, buzzing in a highly non-Bludger like fashion. It was too painful to watch.

“I’m taking five,” he yelled to no one in particular and swooped down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he hoisted up his broomstick and marched for the stands, slumping down in a chair and rubbing his eyes wearily. He hadn’t had much sleep the past week. Between practice and his mind working overtime on a certain, snarky blond at every waking moment that wasn’t practice, he was a wreck.

From where he was sitting, he had a fantastic view of a Chaser crash head first into a Beater who wasn’t paying close attention. Harry slumped further in his seat.

“Interesting manoeuvre. Although my understanding of the sport is that teams are usually on the same side.”

Harry nearly fell out of his seat as he whirled around in alarm. “You!” he sputtered. “What the hell are… how did you even get in here?!”

“I have my sources,” Lucius Malfoy smirked at the scowling boy.

“I am going to murder Zabini,” Harry growled.

“An admirable sentiment,” Lucius drawled. “And one I identify strongly with on my best days.”

Harry bit back the urge to run around in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs. If it had come to the point that he was having a semi amiable conversation with an ex Death Eater who had tried to off him on more than one occasion while his Quidditch Team merrily went about sabotaging themselves, life was suddenly very complicated. “What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked wearily.

“An hour out of your busy schedule,” the older man answered, running an elegant hand down his robe, smoothening imaginary wrinkles. Harry sneered, apparently in no mood to cooperate. “It’s about my son,” Lucius cut in before he could refuse or storm off.

Harry stopped short and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m listening,” he said slowly.

The older man smirked. “Walk with me, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss.”

****

“You’ve lost your mind. You’ve gone completely round the twist!”

Lucius rolled his eyes at the boy’s melodramatics. Two minutes and he already had something in common with Draco. He had definitely chosen well. Nevertheless, it was essential that Potter see sense and cooperate.

“You’re overreacting, Mr. Potter,” he drawled. “What I’m suggesting is a perfectly acceptable practice.”

Potter laughed - the sound high-pitched and somewhat close to hysterical. “Oh, sure. Happens all the time, I’ll bet. Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You’re… he… how could you possibly…”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “What I’m saying, Mr. Potter…”

“Harry.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The boy scrubbed his face tiredly. “If we’re having this discussion, you may as well call me Harry. I have enough to deal with without trying to remember who the hell Mr. Potter is.”

Lucius suppressed a sneer. “Very well then, Harry. I admit that you were never my first choice for this… arrangement.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“Or my second. Or my four hundredth,” Lucius gritted out. “However, certain… incidents that have come to my attention have convinced me otherwise.”

“Like what exactly?” Potter demanded. Lucius retrieved the photographs from his robes with a dramatic flair and presented them to the boy. Potter sifted through one after another, and by the time he was finished, his mouth was pressed in a hard, straight line.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Lucius said smoothly. “Don’t try telling me you’re entirely uninvested in this.”

“He was being cornered and I helped,” Potter spat. “Got pushed around for my trouble too. And I’m certainly not going to marry your lunatic son just because no one else will!”

“You’re interested,” Lucius repeated.

“Not that interested,” Potter replied firmly. “I’m sorry but I don’t see it. And by the way? You may want to check up with Draco about how he feels about throwing his lot in with me. Yeah, do that and see what happens. I hope he gives you a concussion.”

“Draco will see sense. Eventually.” Potter snorted disbelievingly and Lucius chose to ignore him. “He has much to gain from this match. You’re a powerful wizard, more than financially established if your Gringotts accounts are anything to go by…”

“You checked my accounts?!”

“Naturally, Potter. This is my son we’re talking about. And I am determined that he make the best decision for his future.”

“And that’s me,” Potter intoned flatly.

“As much as it pains me to say so, yes. Yes, you are.”

“Well thank you for that shining endorsement, but I’m going to pass.” Potter’s eyes glinted like daggers and his voice had dropped to sub zero. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had a lifetime of people using my name to further their prospects. So thanks for the offer, really. But I don’t really see what’s in it for me.”

Lucius couldn’t help a dark chuckle. “Gryffindor has ruined you, boy,” he smirked. “Do you really think that I’d ask you for something without making an offer of my own? My dear boy, you insult me. You stand to gain substantially from my proposal.”

“There is nothing you can offer me that will make me consider spending the rest of my life with...”

“You’re bored, aren’t you Potter?” Lucius drawled. He gauged the boy for his reaction. His fists were clenched but he was still listening. That would have to do. “The madness, the thrill of constant danger - it’s all gone away, hasn’t it? Oh sure, the peace was great at first. You got your life back together, joined the Quidditch team - you lived the dream. But now… now it’s all coming together, isn’t it? No one is interesting enough to hold your attention. No one is talking to you - they’re talking at you, what they think you are or should be. Everyone is always so accommodating, going out of their way to please you, be seen with you, be friends with you - and you hate it, don’t you? You miss the fight of it, the challenge. You need something to hold your interest. And I assure you, Mr. Potter,” Lucius met the young man’s stare steadily as ever. “Draco has always held your interest.”

“Interest is not enough to make a marriage,” Potter growled.

“No. But it’s certainly a promising way to start,” Lucius countered smoothly. “A courtship, Mr. Potter is merely an agreement. One that you’re free to walk away from should you choose to - hardly a risky venture.”

The boy tensed. He started pacing, taking in the pitch with long strides. Lucius watched his retreating back with schooled interest. Finally, Potter returned. “I’m going to need something more,” he said firmly.

“And what would that be?” Lucius asked.

Potter’s gaze flicked to the sky, watching his team practice. Lucius suppressed a wince as a Chaser lost control of his broom and crashed full force into a goal post. “Do something about this,” Potter said. “And you have a deal. I want that Cup.”

“Well played, Mr. Potter,” Lucius smirked, pulling out a wand and whispering a discreet incantation. “How does this look for a start?”

Potter observed the shimmering numbers dispassionately, before letting the faintest smirk hint at his lips. “Another zero at the end wouldn’t be remiss,” he drawled.

Lucius smirked. He had definitely chosen well. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Potter. Welcome to the family, so to speak.”

“Malfoy.”

Lucius turned around sending the younger man an enquiring look. Potter frowned. “How can you trust your only son with me? How do you know I’m not going to hurt him?”

Lucius chuckled. “Have you met Draco, Mr. Potter? Frankly, I’m more worried about you. Good day.”

****

When Harry went to bed that night, he was tired, confused and restless. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to go and make that bizarre deal with Lucius Malfoy. Marrying Draco Malfoy for a stash of brooms seemed a whole lot stupider in the silence of his bedroom. It had seemed like a… reasonable idea at the time.

At least Oliver was happy. Harry snorted. The man had almost burst into tears when Harry had presented him with a cheque from a ‘long time Canons admirer who wished to remain anonymous’. Malfoy was definitely taking no chances. Harry had of course, been duly sworn to secrecy – not that he had any plans of shouting from the rooftops.

The idea of telling Ginny made him shudder. Merlin, she’d fly through the roof if she got wind of this. And he didn’t even want to know what Ron’s reaction would be. Or Hermione’s. Or Molly’s… oh God, what had he done? If he couldn’t even talk himself through the whole thing without having a panic attack, how the hell was he supposed to explain himself to them?

And then there was Malfoy. Irrational, dangerous, raging Malfoy who was going to be furious at this turn of events, who was going to go in kicking and screaming all the way, who was going to make life for Harry an absolute nightmare, thank you very much… and Harry would have to court that harpy, try to convince him to spend the rest of his life with him.

Malfoy would probably curse him on sight. No, first he’d try torture. No, that wasn’t it either. Malfoy would probably just lunge for his throat instead. Yeah, that sounded about right. He was just going to pounce, snarling like an animal, eyes blazing with fury as he wrapped his slim, aristocratic fingers around Harry’s neck… he’d probably try scratching him too - Malfoy looked like a scratcher. He’d rake his nails into Harry’s skin, digging deeper and deeper until he drew blood and left red welts all over, screaming obscenities all the way. Of course, Harry wasn’t going down that easy. He’d probably be doing some fantastic screaming himself and when Malfoy went for his eyes, he would swing around and pin the poncy little brat to the floor. Malfoy’s silver eyes would widen in surprise, his slim body stilling with the sudden shock of finding himself at a disadvantage. And then, that familiar flash of anger would return and he would start struggling again - except this time Harry would have the advantage. No way was Malfoy using him as a scratching post again! No, he would hold him down with one hand, and with the other he would rip that prissy, expensive silk shirt right off his body. Fabric would tear and buttons would pop and scatter to the floor and Malfoy would writhe and scream under him until Harry would just snap and silence the chit by crushing his mouth against Malfoy’s and… and…

Harry blinked.

That was unexpected.


He took a deep breath and tossed the covers back, noting - with some annoyance - that that little runaway fantasy had given him something of a hard on.

Perfect.

Cursing Malfoy fluently under his breath, he sat up and scrubbed his face. Now the prat was messing with his sleep. Why did every single thing have to lead right back to Malfoy? What was it about that smarmy, pointy ferret? And why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?!

Harry scowled and pushed at his bedside table petulantly, his eye catching the flutter of something falling to the ground. Frowning, he reached out and picked it up. A photograph… oh right, Lucius had given him those pictures. This one was of Malfoy shoving him right before he took off from the pub. The blond was pressed right against him with his hands on Harry’s chest. His pretty mouth was twisted in a sneer as he tried to shove Harry out of the way, his lithe frame pressed against the taller boy for a split second before he broke free and ran off. Harry felt a shiver run through his spine at the memory. Malfoy pressing against him, his hands on his chest… his photograph self didn’t seem inclined to let Malfoy go either. The Harry in the picture was leaning forward as if he wanted nothing more than to grab hold of the blond and not let go. The second Malfoy pushed at him, his hand clenched in thin air. It was not an attempt to break his fall. He was trying to grab Draco, try and keep him from leaving.

And now… now he had him.

Harry grinned and let the picture fall back on the desk. Whatever life was with Malfoy, it wouldn’t be boring. That was for sure. And who knew? Perhaps he would be the lucky one to finally tame the dragon. Of course, there was always the risk of getting killed in the process but since when had that stopped Harry? At the very least, the Slytherin promised to be interesting.

All Harry knew as he slid under his sheets again was that if it was a fight Malfoy wanted, he was going to get it.

Let the games begin.

****

One week later…

Andromeda was in the study when she heard the first splinter of breaking glass. She cocked her head curiously. Lady Druella’s prized crystal vase, perhaps? Excellent, she had always hated that abomination. There was an earth shattering crash as something heavy hurtled down the stairs. She sincerely hoped it was her sainted Mother’s armoire. Why Cissa had ever kept that horrendous thing around, she would never know.

At least Draco had impeccable taste. He always destroyed the ugliest pieces first.

The next sounds that followed from the West Wing were shouts of pure, unadulterated rage mingled with various threats and promises of a slow, unimaginable death. Merlin, she hoped Lucius had a good Shielding Charm handy…

Then again, considering what he’d done this morning, she was rather certain he deserved everything that was coming to him.

She mentally wished both the Malfoy men her very best and blithely resumed reading the Prophet.

****

Blaise was in the kitchen, nicking a sandwich from Tibby - his favourite Malfoy elf - when he heard the crash. He jumped and promptly dropped it. Tibby wheezed in apparent displeasure and Vanished the mess, setting about making him another one sandwich once.

The commotion was promptly followed up by what sounded like a dragon stepping on a hot coal. In the midst of the shouts and the death threats, Blaise could just about make out Lucius’ placating tone.

“What the hell is going on up there?” he demanded.

Tibby merely sniffed and handed him the Prophet. Blaise scanned the headlines intently. By the time he was finished, he was torn between laughing… and rolling on the floor laughing until he burst a seam.

Much to Tibby’s displeasure, he chose the latter. The sandwich lay forgotten on the counter.

****

Harry was in Malfoy Manor, skulking about the Grand Staircase when he heard an almighty crash. The next second, he yelped and jumped out of the way; just narrowly missing being crushed to death by an eighteenth century mahogany armoire that had been hurled down said staircase.

“Well then, guess he’s seen the Prophet,” he murmured to himself.

To be fair, when Lucius had sent him an owl with the Manor’s Apparition coordinates he’d been taken by surprise as well. He had half suspected that the man had dropped his ridiculous ploy altogether (and no, he did not feel a smidge of disappointment at the thought, thank you very much). Then, he had seen the Prophet and… yeah. Well, never let it be said that Malfoys do anything by half.

Draco Malfoy, for example was going to viciously murder all of them by the time this was over. Harry’s only consolation was that he was going to go for his father first.

Oh well. Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

He shrugged, took a few, fair steps away from the Staircase of Pain and Death and waited - to meet his new fiancé or cart Lucius’ mangled remains over to Saint Mungos, he wasn’t quite sure which yet.

Either way, it promised to be fun. With a grin, he sauntered up the staircase.

****

Lucius Malfoy was trying to avoid having his entrails served to him on a cold platter at the time of the aforementioned crash. He watched the armoire hurtle down the stairs with a detached sort of fascination. Say what you will about Draco - the boy had flair. Once again, he tried to reason with his furious and dangerously vindictive offspring.

“This is entirely uncalled for, Draco,” he drawled, dusting some fallen plaster off his robes. “I am fairly certain that Malfoy decorum frowns upon trying to murder one’s sire.”

“Oh I’m not going to murder you, Father,” Draco hissed. “At least not until I’ve personally tortured you to my utter and complete satisfaction.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s a good thing you never joined the Death Eaters,” he smirked. “You would have outranked us all in a year or two.”

Draco snarled and pointed his wand at an old tapestry which obliged by bursting into shreds. Then he turned on his father again. “You think this is funny?” he demanded. “You dare to… you have the absolute nerve to make jokes right now?!”

“Calm down, son.”

That was in hindsight, the wrong thing to say. Draco nearly imploded. “I will not calm down!” he howled, wielding a copy of the Prophet. “I will not calm down or listen to reason or any such stupid sodding thing until you explain this shite!” He ripped through the unfortunate Prophet, scanning the headlines for the announcement Lucius had personally sent to the Editor last night.

“Malfoy heir chooses Mystery Suitor,” Draco spat, reading out loud from the page. “It appears that the wait is finally over. In a surprising turn of events, Lucius Malfoy has announced that his son and heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, has finally - we repeat, finally - chosen a worthy suitor. The identity of Malfoy’s Mystery Lover has not been revealed yet, resulting in wide scale speculations. “Could be that bass player from the Weird Sisters,” said Astoria Greengrass, a close personal friend of the Malfoys. “Assuming of course that they took care of that pecker shrinking hex Draco used on him last year.” Lucius Malfoy did not comment, stating only that his son had ‘chosen well and had done the family name proud.’ The younger Malfoy who is publicly known for leaving strings of broken hearts (and limbs) in his wake was unavailable for comment, immediately sparking rumours of elopement. Lucius Malfoy went on to put these rumours to rest, citing that the young couple merely wished for some privacy before making their courtship public (a Prophet exclusive, coming soon!). This reporter speculates a story like never before. Just who is the mysterious stranger who snagged the heart of our resident Ice Prince? Do you have a lucky guess? Write in to the Prophet at…”

“Yes, yes I read that tripe, no need to repeat it,” Lucius drawled. “That Skeeter wench really likes to milk it, doesn’t she?”

Draco was reaching new and previously unseen levels of apoplectic. “You’re on thin fucking ice!” he bellowed. “You have exactly ten seconds to explain what the hell this is all about before I... I…” His eyes darted around the room wildly, landing on an ancient fourteenth century, two thousand page manuscript that had been in the family for generations.

“Honestly,” Lucius sighed, deflecting the book easily as it made a beeline for his frontal cortex. “You’re just like your mother.”

“Mother wouldn’t have fed you your own intestines,” Draco sneered. “Which is precisely what I’m going to do if you don’t tell me the name of the sorry bastard you’re trying to shove down my throat this time!”

“Ah, of course. I imagine you’re eager to meet your fiancé.”

“I don’t have a fiancé!” Draco snarled. “What I have is a Father who doesn’t know when to quit and a potential murder trial!” His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at his unimpressed, and somewhat amused sire. “And Merlin as my witness, when I’m done with you, I’m going after the poor sod you dragged into your crazy scheme and I’m going to make him suffer!”

“How delightful,” Lucius smirked. “By happy coincidence, he’s downstairs waiting for you. I’ll tell him where to find you, shall I?” He turned on his heel and exited, ignoring Draco’s howl of outrage. A belated thought crossed his mind and he turned back to face his simmering son. “Oh and if I haven’t said it already, Draco… congratulations.”

He barely made it out the door before the vase shattered inches from where his head had been a second ago.

Potter was outside, leaning languidly against a wall as he eavesdropped blatantly. He smirked at Lucius as the older man straightened his robes. “Problem?” he enquired dryly.

Lucius smirked back. “Your problem,” he drawled. “Good luck, young man.”

He allowed himself a chuckle as he turned and left, his footsteps echoing across the hall.

****

Bastard, Harry mused with a twinge of amusement as he watched Lucius saunter off. And that was the least of his problems. Momentarily, he reflected on what was waiting for him on the other side of that door.

Malfoy was obviously pacing, practically ricocheting of the walls if his frantic footsteps were anything to go by. And he was snarling something about... Harry frowned and pressed his ear to the door… feed him his own what? Harry chuckled.

Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable.

Besides, he knew what he was getting into. Malfoy didn’t. He had the distinct advantage of the element of surprise and he was going to have to make the most of it. Fast. Before Malfoy decided to feed him his own… well, never mind.

Taking a deep breath, he shrugged the door open and stepped inside.

The sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks. Harry gasped softly.

Malfoy was still engrossed in his pacing and had mercifully not noticed him. He was clad in a white shirt and black trousers, the lithe planes of his body visible against the thin, silky material. His blond hair was tousled - a stark contrast to his usual, impeccable appearance - and damn, if Harry didn’t like it. His mouth was a hard, pressed line despite those soft, full lips and his grey eyes glared defiantly at nothing in particular. He was obviously working himself up into a fine rage. And he looked brilliant. Who knew Malfoy could look quite so fetching? Harry had thought he looked gorgeous in the shadows of that dank, dimly lit pub, but here in his element… he was stunning. A wild, untamed animal out to prowl and Harry was more than willing to offer himself up for the hunt. All his doubts from the previous night vanished in thin air as he let his eyes rake over the blond indolently. He was just so…

“Perfect,” he said out loud.

Mistake number one…

Malfoy caught the whisper and stiffened, turning around at once. His body went rigid and his eyes went so wide that for a second all Harry could see in that pale face was pools of stormy grey. His lips parted and he emitted a soft breath, apparently too shocked out of his wits to move.

It was a good look for him, Harry thought.

He planned on saying so too… except that Malfoy cut him off with a roar of fury and pulled out his wand.

And that was the precise moment that the world went to hell.

****

Mistake number two? Well, that would be taking cover from Malfoy’s onslaught behind a rickety chair when there was a perfectly good, solid desk not ten feet away. Hex after hex flew past him as he crouched behind his makeshift shield.

Harry hissed as a Stinging Hex singed him. This was going to be harder than he thought. Malfoy seemed to know an impressive number of dangerous spells.

And then the desk was hurtling towards him with point blank accuracy and Harry just about managed to scrabble out of the way with seconds to spare. It crashed against the wall with astounding force, landing on the floor in a heap of kindling.

“You!” Malfoy snarled, apparently caught somewhere between utter disbelief and white hot rage. His wand was pointing at Harry’s chest - a slim, ebony weapon of pure destruction. “Fucking hell, it’s you!”

“Too right,” Harry grinned, righting himself easily. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Draco spat. “What is this?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet?” Harry asked. “I’d make a blond joke but that would probably end with me impaled on your wand.” He grinned and raised an eyebrow at the furious blond. “Not entirely a bad thing, if you catch my drift.”

“Shut up!” Draco snarled, casting a Stunner. Harry deflected it easily - he’d been expecting that.

“Temper, temper,” he crooned aggravatingly. “We’ll have to work on that now that we’re officially engaged.”

“We are not engaged!” Malfoy snarled, sending a potentially lethal looking hex at him. Harry deflected it again, sending it hurtling out the window.

“Course we are,” he replied cheerfully. “Don’t you read the papers? By the way, excellent job on the Weird Sisters bass player.”

“A standard pecker shrinking hex,” Draco sneered. “Care for a demonstration?”

Harry laughed. “Wouldn’t be much use to you then, would I?” he asked, lazily eyeing the blond. He delighted in Draco’s surprised blink. The sudden change of tactics had caught him off guard. Harry took a cautious step towards the blond, only to encourage an immediate retreat.

“Get away from me!” Draco snapped, backing away quickly. “Don’t touch me, Potter!”

“I remember you saying that before,” Harry mused. “When was that again? Oh right, when I saved your scrawny little neck from that brute at the pub. Funny, I don’t remember you thanking me for that.”

“I had it under control,” Malfoy gritted reluctantly.

“Sure you did,” Harry retorted. “Right up to the part where he nearly strangled you and I had to step in to save your pretty, little arse. Again.”

Malfoy scowled at him. “Nobody asked for your help, Potter.”

“Well, you got it,” Harry growled. “I wasn’t going to stand around and watch you get pushed around.”

Malfoy seemed surprised by that. He opened his mouth - probably to say something utterly prattish - and then closed it again, looking somewhat flummoxed. Harry chuckled and moved closer to him so that they were almost touching. “Can we just sit and talk about this? I promise I won’t bite - unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

The blond’s eyes narrowed again as his previous predicament were brought to the forefront. “No!” he spat. “You’re leaving right now!” He planted his hands on Harry’s chest as if to push past him, but Harry was prepared for that. He side-stepped the blond and nicked his wand neatly, much to Draco’s chagrin. Then he grabbed hold of the man’s slim wrist, taking care not to manhandle him but holding him firmly in place.

“I’m not going anywhere until you thank me,” the Gryffindor purred. “And neither are you.”

Draco made a frustrated noise and struggled but it was useless. Harry definitely had him as far as brute strength went. Finally he stopped his squirming, and just stood there glowering stubbornly.

“I’ll spend the night here if I have to,” Harry grinned. “Although, I figured you’d want to wait until you have a ring on your finger for that.”

He had no doubt that if Draco had the use of both his hands, they’d be around his throat by now. As it were, the blond visibly paled at that suggestion. “Fine! Thank you!” he spat, trying to extricate himself rather frantically now. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Harry replied. He pulled the blond flush against his body with a sharp tug and brought that pretty wrist to his mouth, kissing it chastely before letting go. Draco’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, cradling his wrist against his chest as if afraid it would be snatched up again. Harry couldn’t help a cheeky grin. “Now was that so hard?”

Draco growled threateningly and he stepped away. The blond retreated as well, huddling in a corner and watching Harry with wary, grey eyes. “You’re a sociopath,” he accused, conveniently forgetting that he was the one launching furniture missiles not ten minutes ago.

“Probably,” Harry agreed cheerfully. “Lucky I have my sweet, mild mannered fiancé to smooth things over, eh? Which reminds me, I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner tomorrow.”

“What?!”

“Well, I would have mentioned it sooner except you…” he dodged the book Malfoy promptly hurled at his head. “…were busy doing that.”

Malfoy snarled and tugged at his blond hair in abject frustration. Harry smirked as he stomped over, pointing a threatening finger in his face. “Listen carefully,” Malfoy intoned in a livid hiss. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing or what’s going on in that oversized Gryffindor head of yours. I have had a long, confusing day and there’s a lot I don’t understand right now. But I do know this - you’re going to have to drag me from this Manor kicking and screaming. I will put you through hell before I do anything you want and I will not... not be a part of whatever mad scheme you’re on to this time. I will not! Do you understand me, Potter?”

“Perfectly,” Harry smirked. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me… are you even listening? I am not going anywhere with you! Not unless you drag my stiff, cold corpse…”

“Yes yes, you’ll make life a living hell for me, I’ll rue the day I crossed you etcetera etcetera. Much as I enjoy this scintillating conversation, I really have to get back to Quidditch practice. Be sure to dress fancy for tomorrow, yeah?” Harry had the utter gall to lean over and give the blond a quick peck on the cheek before walking away.

“Potter! You crazy, delusional freak! I told you I’m not going to dinner with you!”

“Oh I think you will,” Harry chuckled, pulling out something from his back pocket. “Or I’ll just have to hold on to this until you’re more… accommodating.” He waved Draco’s stolen wand aggravatingly, before giving him a cheeky wink and taking off.

As he bolted down the stairs and out the nearest exit, he vaguely wondered if the Slytherin would make dinner any easier on him.

“FATHER! YOU’RE A DEAD MAN!”

Harry chuckled.

Probably not.

****

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Andromeda drawled, sitting next to her smirking companion. “Now he’s out for blood.”

“Oh indeed,” Lucius chortled, evidently very pleased with himself. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be glad for a Gryffindor in my house.”

“Which reminds me, Lucius… Harry Potter? Really?”

“Surely you don’t plan to tell me you disapprove. I happen to remember you being rather taken with the brat.”

“Harry is a remarkable young man,” Andromeda admitted. “I am very fond of him. That being said, what on earth were you thinking?”

“Merely that Potter might be the solution to all our problems. He’s well placed; abysmally brave - or stupid as the case may be - and apparently he has a death wish. He’s perfect.”

“It’s not me you need to convince, Lucius,” she quipped raising an eyebrow. “Your son begs to differ.”

“My son has had his chances. Several of them,” Lucius retorted. “I’m the Lord of this Manor and I will do what I think is best.”

“Yes well, do try to remember that when Draco stabs you in your sleep,” she smirked.

Lucius frowned. “He wouldn’t.”

Andromeda merely shrugged and shot him one of her most charming smiles. “I would.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a Black.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder. He inhaled sharply as those long, slender fingers brushed absently at his hair as they retreated. “Lock your door tonight, Lord of the Manor,” she threw over her shoulder as she left.

And Lucius did not let his eyes linger on the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away. Most certainly not.

****

Draco was on the verge of a panic attack.

He had spent the last day and a half alternating between sulking moodily in the gardens and Incendioing portraits of family members who annoyed him. Great Grandfather Abraxas was a prick anyway.

Now it was nearly four in the afternoon, and he had just received an owl from Potter reminding him about that blighted dinner. There was no doubt his ‘fiancé’ was going to show up as promised. Which was seldom a problem for Draco. It was simply a matter of evicting said fiancé by means of death threats, force and in one memorable case - killer peacocks from the garden.

Except that Potter was barking mad and clearly not to be trifled with.

Draco kicked at a side table angrily. How could his own father have tied him down with that lunatic? Potter was insane! He rode dragons and battled Dementors and eliminated evil dark wizards intent on taking over the world without so much as a by your leave! Who did shite like that? A sane man would run for his life when assaulted with hexes and flying furniture. A sane man would bolt out the door at once and never come back. A sane man would most certainly not nick his wand and hold him to ransom with it! And kiss him on the cheek as if he were some sort of starry eyed girl! The nerve! The absolute audacity! The… the… GAAAH!

No. No, this had to end. He could not, absolutely not see Potter again. It didn’t matter how fit the bastard was or how his eyes flared when he looked Draco over or… or…

DAMN IT!

Resolutely, Draco marched out of his quarters and over to Father’s study.

He couldn’t handle Potter’s mind games a second longer. Not without complete losing what was left of his sanity.

****

“Take it back.”

Lucius resolutely kept his gaze on his Gringotts statement, refusing to meet eyes with his sulking son. “No,” he replied simply.

There was a resounding huff of indignation and Lucius smirked. He was sure Draco was pouting. He always resorted to blatant manipulation when his tantrums didn’t work. “Just call the Prophet and tell them it was a mistake,” he demanded petulantly. “Or that Potter died in a fiery accident. I’ll even arrange for it to happen so you don’t look like an arse. Just make it stop.”

“Draco, it is not my place to tell Potter how to treat his betrothed.”

“I am not his betrothed!” Draco snapped. “Will everyone stop saying that?”

“Well, he seems to think so. As do I. Frankly, I don’t really see the problem. Why don’t you just incapacitate him like all the others if he displeases you so?”

“Because Potter refuses to be incapacitated!” Draco argued. “He doesn’t play fair!”

“What you mean is he won’t roll over and play dead for you.”

“He stole my wand! And he won’t give it back unless I go to dinner with him.”

“The horror,” Lucius drawled. “How will you ever survive such a calamity?”

Draco responded with a curious noise - somewhere between a shriek and a snarl - and started pacing. Lucius could hear his footsteps echoing as he ricocheted around the study. “He’s insane!” he ranted fretfully. “A sodding lunatic! I’m going to report him. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just call the Auror department and…”

“And say what exactly? That you’re being harassed by the Saviour of all Wizardkind? Good luck fighting those odds.”

Draco stopped pacing and slammed a fist on the desk. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “And how did you get Potter to agree to this? I know you did something.”

Lucius abandoned the parchment and met his son’s gaze steadily. “I merely did what any concerned father should have done. You are erratic and unhappy and you need a life partner to calm and balance you. As it happens, that man is Potter. He feels so, I feel so and in time, you will see that it’s for the best.”

Draco’s grey eyes blazed. “Do I look calm and balanced?” he snarled. “I told you once and I’m telling you again - I will not go through with this charade!”

“You most certainly will. I am not opposed to cutting you off from your opulent lifestyle. Disinheriting you, if necessary.”

Draco’s jaw ticked, but the subtle threat held good. “So its blackmail then, is it?”

“I am merely trying to do what is best for you. For Merlin’s sake, boy - you’re not being married off this second. Just get to know the man.”

“I do know him! He’s an arrogant, conceited, obnoxious Gryffindor with a hero complex the size of Dover!”

“And you’re a spoilt, petulant child throwing a temper tantrum in his father’s study. We all have our flaws. Now go to dinner with your fiancé and leave me be.”

He suppressed a wince as Draco emitted a howl that would have done a Mandrake proud and stormed off.

He could only hope that Potter knew just what he was getting into.

****

Andromeda smiled warmly as her nephew slinked into her room, looking distinctly put out. He didn’t say a word. Instead he settled on the floor next to her and put his head on her lap, silently demanding a petting. The witch shook her head fondly and carded a hand through Draco’s blond locks.

“Having a bad day, are we?”

“Horrible,” Draco grumbled, curling against her like a cat. “Make Potter go away.”

“Oh now, it can’t be that bad.”

“It is. He’s awful and I hate him.”

Andromeda couldn’t help it. She laughed. “It’s funny,” she explained, petting her pouting nephew again. “That’s exactly what your mother said when she first met your father.”

Draco stared at her. “You’re not serious,” he blurted. “Mother said that?”

“Well, she was very opposed to an engagement with a man she barely knew and Lucius wasn’t exactly… what she had in mind. And then your father mentioned that he wanted… what was it? Ah yes, ‘four strapping sons to ensure that the Malfoy name lived on’ or some such nonsense.”

Draco snickered as Andromeda grinned at the memory. “Your mother of course, reacted like any proper, pureblood lady of her upbringing would have.”

“She hexed him?”

“I believe the younger crowd calls it a ‘Bat Bogey’ these days.”

Draco burst into laughter. “She didn’t! Merlin, she must have been pissed.”

“Oh, she was. Ranted and railed about it for days. She even vowed never to speak to ‘that blight on humanity’ again.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, eventually your father apologised and she calmed down. It took a lot of patience and persuasion on his part, not to mention three years of courting - practically unheard of in those days - but eventually, she said yes.” She smiled softly. “I’ve never seen two people more in love.”

Draco sighed and settled down in her lap again, uncharacteristically quiet. Andromeda’s heart clenched. She knew how much he missed Narcissa… perhaps more than all of them.

“It’s never perfect, Draco” she said softly. “But you have to open yourself to the possibility that things might work out.”

“Not like this,” he murmured softly. “And certainly not with… him.”

“You’re overthinking it, love. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

He grumbled something about sanctimonious, overbearing Gryffindors and she grinned mischievously. “Of course, no one ever said you shouldn’t make him work for it.”

Draco let a grin break out on his face. “You know I love you, right?”

“And I love you, Dragon” she replied, kissing his forehead. “Try not to destroy this one though, okay?”

“I never make promises I can’t keep,” Draco smirked.

Andromeda sighed. In her experience, neither did Harry Potter.

****

Later that evening…

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Harry frowned and approached the Manor cautiously. He had seen neither hide nor hair of his new fiancé ever since yesterday’s catastrophe and he was sure Malfoy would try to get even. There had been no reply to his note, but passive aggressive was not Malfoy’s style. Harry had expected at least a Howler or two.

The silent tension of it was getting to him. There was no way Malfoy was going to go easily.

“He has to be planning something,” Harry muttered. “But what?”

“Well, for one thing there’s that Devil’s Snare patch you’re standing in,” a cheerful voice pointed out. Harry yelped as he realized that a green tendril was in fact wrapping itself around his leg. Zabini stepped out of the shadows and cast a quick Incendio. The plant retreated and Harry scowled at the grinning Italian.

“Must you be everywhere?” he demanded.

Zabini shrugged. “Well, I figured you’d need a little help getting through Phase One on your first try. Of course, if you’d rather tackle the grand piano hanging precariously from the ceiling, the Venomous Tentacula and the vampire bats on your own…”

Harry frowned. “He’s got vampire bats?”

“Did I mention there’s also a Phase Two and Three?” Zabini grinned. “He really doesn’t like you.”

Harry groaned. “Must he always be so dramatic? I’m not even inside yet.”

“I think he plans to keep it that way,” Zabini snickered.

“Oh you’re funny,” Harry snapped, stomping over to sulk under a tree. Zabini cocked his head curiously and followed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Why are you putting yourself through this? I mean, I get that the World Cup is important and Merlin help me, it’ll be fun to have a little competition if you lot can actually make it through the semi-finals this time…”

Harry froze. “You know about…?”

“It was my idea,” Zabini smirked. “I didn’t think you’d go for it though. So again I ask Potter, is it worth the hassle?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “I think so. Plus it makes Malfoy go spare so that’s a bonus.”

Zabini laughed. “Potter, a strong breeze makes him go spare. And you’re going to commit to spending the rest of your life with that. Exactly what is your plan?”

Harry clenched his fists. Honestly, it was questions like this that unnerved him. He couldn’t explain any of it. The way Malfoy was suddenly in his dreams and fantasies, the way his blood flared at the sight of him, the reason he felt alive around him… it was all rather disorienting. And he couldn’t say it out loud… especially not to Zabini. Harry shook his head firmly. Besides, it was all just nonsense. Obviously, all he needed was to shag Malfoy silly and get him out of his system. Then he could concentrate on important things again. There, internal crisis handled. He turned to address the Slytherin once again.

“My plan is to beat your ass and win that damn Cup.”

“I see,” Zabini smirked. “Well, no one can fault you for commitment to the cause, Potter. But as official best friend and president of the Hurt My Malfoy And I’ll Kill You Committee it’s my duty to inform you - hurt my Malfoy and I’ll kill you.”

“Hurt him?” Harry snapped. “I’m not the one waylaying passers-by with Devil Snare traps! Hell, he won’t even let me in the damn door.”

“Oh stop being a baby, Potter. All you have to do is scale the wall and get in through that window right there. A simple Levicorpus should do it. I’d recommend Apparating but you might end up in Lucius’ bedroom. Trust me; he gets very cranky when that happens.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. “Anything else I need to not know about ever?” Zabini shook his head. “Thank Merlin,” Harry muttered. “Think you can do a Levicorpus without dropping me on my arse?”

He turned around, but halted as a firm hand gripped his shoulder. “I mean it, Potter,” Zabini said quietly. “If he ever finds out about your little… arrangement with Lucius, Draco will be the least of your problems. It’s me you’ll have to worry about.”

“Understood,” Harry replied as sincerely as possible. “I’ll play ball, Zabini. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Now will you please fly me up this window so I can meet my fiancé?”

“I swear this place just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Zabini muttered, pulling out his wand. Harry laughed as his feet lifted off the ground.

****

Draco jumped as he heard the noise. It sounded like something was scrabbling outside his…window? The blond’s eyes widened and immediately darted towards the clock.

7:15

No. Oh Merlin no. He couldn’t have gotten past the… fucking hell; it had taken him hours to get those traps ready! The next second two hands appeared out of nowhere at the window and were immediately joined by an atrociously familiar mop of hair.

Draco made a sound like a strangled cat and backed away at once.

“Sorry I’m late, lovely,” Potter grinned as if this were an everyday occurrence. “Got caught up with your pet plant. I think he likes me.” He pulled himself up and slipped in the window with casual grace.

“Nice room,” he added, looking around. “Can’t say I’m crazy about all the green though. Oh well, plenty of time to redecorate when we’re married…”

Draco gaped, momentarily unable to form a coherent sentence. “You… but… how?”

“Now, now,” Potter grinned predatorily. “You didn’t think a little foliage would keep me from my beautiful boyfriend, did you? And if I may say so…” His eyes travelled down Draco’s body with ill-concealed interest. “It was completely worth it.”

The blond swallowed and backed away. He had never intended for Potter to make it this far. Those traps were impregnable! And yet, here he was… without so much as a scratch on him. Merlin, Draco hated him! “You… you’re leaving right now,” he stammered out.

Potter’s eyes darkened. “I really don’t think so. I’ve played your little games and I’ve put up with a lot to come see you tonight. We’ve done it your way, Malfoy. Now it’s my turn. You’re going to come out with me and have a nice dinner or I swear to Merlin, I’ll make you. Your call.”

“No!” Draco screamed, somewhat hysterically. He was completely panic stricken. “I told you I won’t go and I meant it! You’re not going to make me!” Potter’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened with stubborn determination. He took a step towards the frantic blond at which point, Draco completely lost it. He bolted.

“Damn it!” Potter snarled, giving chase. Draco practically flew towards the door, trying to wrench it open. Potter’s hand was around his waist in an instant and he was yanked back roughly. “You are not running from me again,” he growled.

Draco struggled like a maniac, trying to twist out of the iron grip but Potter’s hold was too strong. He was manoeuvred around roughly and Potter’s hands planted themselves around his slim waist. Draco snapped and snarled, howling and cursing and screaming bloody murder until…

“Enough!”

The shout rang out, echoing across the room. Draco ceased his struggling, momentarily shocked. Emerald green eyes blazed at him, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Draco cringed. Damn, Potter was angry. He was glaring down at him - being at least a head taller than Draco (when had that happened?) - and his jaw was clenched tight. It was also broad and slightly dark with stubble and… and… NO! This could not happen again! Particularly when Potter looked like he wanted to strangle him.

“You spoilt, cossetted brat!” Potter snarled. “You will stop acting like a nightmare this second or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

Draco flinched, but scowled stubbornly. Potter growled and shook him, almost violently. “I asked you a question,” he hissed. Draco flinched as Potter’s hands tightened around his waist. It wasn’t painful… but there was no doubt that Potter was strong. And pissed off.

“Yes,” he gritted out reluctantly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I understand!” Draco snapped. He hated this!

“Good,” Potter praised, his tone suddenly soothing. Draco scowled and bit down the urge to say something scathing. The man was a maniac. It would be prudent not to antagonize him more than necessary. He seemed satisfied for now. The hands around his waist shifted to his back, tracing soothing patterns against his tense muscles. Draco’s breath hitched and his eyes widened. Potter smirked.

“Breathe, gorgeous” he whispered. “We’re just getting to know each other, that’s all.”

Draco muttered something about not wanting to get to know Potter but kept still. The adamant prat shifted closer and traced his shoulders soothingly. His fingers traced Draco’s neck, hovering at the pulse point for a moment before slowly tracing their way up his face. The blond blinked in surprise and stiffened but Potter shushed him gently, still mapping his features under his calloused fingers. Against his will, Draco found himself relaxing into the touch. It felt… well, not terrible…

“So pretty,” Potter murmured speculatively. “It’s a shame you’ve got such a mouth on you.” His finger dipped to trace Draco’s lips and the blond shivered, parting them ever so slightly. “Then again,” Potter husked. “Maybe it’s not all bad. Silver lining and all that…”

Draco hummed and closed his eyes. Potter’s voice was low and husky and his fingers were warm against his heated skin and it wasn’t so bad really… odd perhaps, but not…

Suddenly Potter’s arms tightened around him and Draco gasped as he felt the all too familiar tug of apparition. The bastard had tricked him.

DAMN IT!

****

Draco was still cursing fluently when they were on solid ground again.

“You lying, manipulative bastard! Let GO!”

He flung Potter off, glaring daggers at the grinning idiot. The Gryffindor chuckled and dusted off his jacket easily. “Well, that was fun,” he said. “To tell the truth, I figured you’d put up more of a fight. Turns out a little action is all I need to bring out your cooperative side.”

Draco flushed and clenched his fists. Embarrassment washed over him in waves as he realized that Potter wasn’t lying. It was all true. At some point, he had been willing to do what Potter wanted and… why? Just because the prat’s hands had been all over him? Good Lord, what was wrong with him?

Potter was still grinning and Draco wasn’t sure he could take it anymore. He turned on his heel and started walking away.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that.”

Ignore him, he told himself firmly. Just keep walking.

“Malfoy! Wait up!” The prat was running now to keep up with him. Draco huffed and quickened his footsteps. Potter kept pace with him easily. Damn his long legs!

“Seriously? The silent treatment?” The idiot actually had the gall to protest.

“Go away,” Draco muttered mutinously.

“At least tell me where you’re going.”

“Home!” Draco snapped.

“You plan to walk home from Paris?”

Draco screeched to a halt and turned to goggle at his companion. “Paris?” he echoed incredulously. “You… you Apparated us to… we’re in Paris?”

“Well it’s definitely not Hogsmeade, is it?”

Draco took a sharp breath and stopped to take a good look around. From the alley he was standing in, he could see the busy streets and soft lights of the city. Elegant, old buildings sprawled out on all sides, competing with modern skyscrapers and blaring traffic. In the distance the Eiffel Tower shimmered, spiralling majestically over the city.

Oh. My. God.

“France?” Draco nearly choked, turning on Potter. “You Apparated us into another country? Are you insane?”

Potter let out a long suffering sigh. “What’s the world coming to when a man is called insane for taking his fiancé to Paris?”

Draco suppressed the urge to scream. “First of all, you kidnapped me. Second of all, I am not your fucking fiancé!”

Two women stopped in their tracks to stare at them and then scurried off.

“I do so love your spirit, darling,” Potter cooed, undeterred. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

Draco gave up. It was hopeless. He was stuck with a madman over a thousand miles from home and frankly, he was exhausted. Potter was impossible and screaming at him only made it worse. Maybe… maybe compromise would work. It was worth a try. “If… if I say I’m your fiancé will you stop acting like a crazy person?” he asked tentatively.

“Well we won’t know until you do, will we honey?”

Draco groaned and scrubbed his face wearily. “Fine, Potter. You win. I’m your fiancé. Happy?” This seemed to happen a lot these days…

“Well of course I am, you silly blond thing you,” Potter chuckled. “Now hurry up. Dinner awaits us.” He turned away and sauntered off merrily, leaving Draco gaping behind him. The young blond went over his meagre list of options. There was nothing he wanted more than to hex the very skin off Potter. Unfortunately the wanker still had his wand. Maybe, he should try walking back… it was only a few thousand kilometres…

“Draco? I’m not getting any younger, darling.”

There was nothing for it. Draco slumped his shoulders in defeat and trudged behind Potter. Get this over with as soon as possible, he told himself firmly. And try… try not to go completely mental in the meantime.

****

Draco stabbed fitfully at his fish and tried not to sulk. In light of his changed circumstances, he had adopted a strategy of mutinous silence and constant pouting, pointedly ignoring everything that Potter said. It hadn’t deterred the man in the slightest.

Potter went about his evening with a blithe confidence, smiling and chatting with the waiter, somehow managing to select the right wine and ordering for both of them. Draco’s chagrin at the high handedness was overshadowed by his surprise at the fact that Potter spoke fluent French.

Potter must have noticed his shocked expression because he shrugged and grinned. “We did some intel in France during the War. I was stuck here for the better part of a year. Turns out when you’ve got nothing to do in a strange city, you pick up a few things.”

Draco nodded stiffly. He really didn’t want to talk about the War. His own involvement had been limited but it still rankled. His mind flitted with memories of the Dark Lord and he shuddered. His mother had shipped him off to a safe house the second she had a chance and he had spent three, dark and terrifying months in Italy with Blaise, waiting for the odd owl, wondering if their families were alive or dead. It had been the worst time of his life and now, it just stung that while he had been hiding away like a coward, Potter had tackled the monster head on and given them their lives back. The Dark Lord… Draco shuddered again.

He started as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and stared into concerned, green eyes. “I’m glad it’s over too,” Potter told him sincerely. Draco nodded again and shrugged off his hand. He didn’t want contact right now… especially with Potter.

Mercifully, Potter seemed to understand and backed off. He poured another glass of wine, which Draco accepted grudgingly and smiled in that annoying, disarming way of his. “Tell me about yourself,” he ordered. “What do you do?”

“I’m studying Potions,” Draco answered. He may as well answer Potter’s asinine questions if it would get him home sooner. “I was hoping to get my Masters this year.”

“But?” Potter frowned.

“But I wasn’t selected for the internship,” Draco replied bitterly. “Limited seats.” What that meant of course, was that someone with his Dark Arts background shouldn’t even have bothered to apply. But Draco had been adamant. He knew he had a perfect NEWT score for the program. He had hoped that that would even out the odds for him. Apparently not.

Potter just nodded speculatively. “Well, you’ll manage,” he said finally. “You were certainly talented, from what I remember.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Draco snapped. This whole conversation was messing with his head. He did not want to share his long list of personal failures with Potter. This whole thing was reaching new levels of ridiculous.

“Of course,” Potter replied easily. “Let’s talk about us instead.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed warningly. “Us?”

“Well, we need to discuss our future together, don’t we? Wedding dates, buying a house, four or five kids… all that jazz.”

“Potter, for the love of Merlin! We are not getting… five kids?”

“And a crup in the yard, unless you’re a cat person. You look like a cat person.”

Draco whimpered and rubbed his temples. He was developing a migraine, he just knew it. And he was really too tired to fight anymore. “Why are you doing this, Potter?” he asked wearily.

“Doing what?” Potter asked innocently.

“This!” Draco ranted, not even caring that a few people were staring at them now. It was too much. “All of it! With the dinner and the courting and the crazy! What could you possibly be getting out of this? I’m trying and trying to figure it out but I can’t! And I know you’re up to something! Don’t you dare tell me you’re not! Merlin as my witness Potter, I will find out and I will make you suffer for this incessant harassment if it’s the last thing I… mmmph!”

In hindsight, he should have noticed Potter slowly and steadily sidling over to his side of the table. But Draco was far too caught up in his rant to give a damn. So when Potter’s hand gripped the back of his neck, tugging him forward and their lips crashed together, he was somewhat surprised. So surprised in fact, that he gasped and Potter - bastard that he was - took due advantage and slipped his tongue in his mouth. Draco snarled in frustration and reached for a fork, determined to stab the Gryffindor to within an inch of his life. Potter was prepared and grabbed hold of his wrists, pinning them together as he ravaged his mouth senselessly. Draco struggled petulantly for all of ten seconds, before coming to the conclusion that it was futile. Defeated, he relaxed his tense body and surrendered, giving Potter free rein to do as he pleased. The Gryffindor smirked against his lips, recognizing his victory and plied Draco with lips and teeth and tongue, exploring every inch of his new found territory with enthusiasm. It seemed to go on for hours, with him hauled up in Potter’s arms like a ragdoll as the man attempted to snog the very life force out of him. Finally, the need for oxygen took over and Draco whimpered in feeble protest. Potter released him, chuckling when a rather light headed Draco slumped against him.

“Any more questions?” the prat asked smugly.

“A simple I find you attractive would have done the job, Potter,” the blond grumbled. Potter laughed and carded a hand through his hair, and he debated whether or not to push him away. What was the point? So he stayed where he was as Potter cleared the cheque and thanked their waiter. He didn’t even protest when the man hauled him up again and back out on the street or when they Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. They landed on solid ground again with Draco still tucked firmly in the crook of Potter’s arms.

Then he protested.

He huffed and pushed Potter away at once, scowling as the arrogant git stumbled a bit and righted himself, still grinning. “Delightful” he teased lightly, green eyes sparkling merrily. ”And to think, I was worried that you’d give me a hard time.” Draco flushed and looked away. This would have been so much easier if Potter had the basic courtesy to be ugly as fuck. Unreasonable git…

“You had your fun,” he scowled belligerently. “Now go away.”

“Alright,” Potter grinned, taking his waist and pulling him closer. “But I have something for you first.”

Draco’s eyes widened as that damn kiss flashed through his mind again. There was no way he was reliving that again. “I don’t want it,” he snapped, turning his head away mulishly. “Leave, Potter.”

“No,” Potter husked, trailing a hand down his cheek again. “I want you to have this.”

Draco faltered, his skin flaring at the seemingly innocent touch. “P-potter…”

“Hush, beautiful,” Potter whispered. “You want this, I swear.”

“N-no,” Draco protested adamantly. Potter was so close now. The woodsy scent of pine drifted over Draco and he swallowed. Potter’s lips hovered over his and despite himself, Draco whimpered.

“Want it now?” Potter whispered. Draco staggered like a pile of bricks.

“Yes,” he managed, closing his eyes. Potter tilted his head up with a gentle hand and Draco hummed and parted his lips. Potter’s mouth ghosted over his tantalisingly. And then Draco felt those lips stretch in an amused grin. His eyes fluttered open in surprise as he felt something long and thin slipping into his trouser pocket. What the…?

“Your wand,” Potter chuckled, pulling back abruptly. “I figured you’d want it back.” The git favoured him with a sweet kiss on the cheek and removed his hands, backing away smoothly. Draco tried not to whine at the sudden loss. He was so stunned that all he could do was stare as Potter turned his back on him and walked away.

“I’ll be in touch, beautiful,” he called back. “Sleep well.”

And then he was gone. Draco slumped against the Manor gates trying and failing to understand how his life had culminated to this single point of madness. There were no answers in the stillness of the night. Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and trudged up to bed.

So much for not going completely mental…

****

“Malcolm, Bludger at three o’clock! Take a dive!”

“Thanks, Potter!”

Harry grinned as his teammate executed a perfectly smooth dive, avoiding the Bludger by a hair. These new brooms were fantastic. Heidi swopped alongside him, laughing with the pure joy of possessing a Nimbus 2020 that wasn’t trying to throw her off. “Now that’s quality,” she grinned, spinning around him giddily. Harry laughed. The team was in high spirits. Practice was a different story now, thanks to their new equipment. He just hoped they could get to some actual practice in before the season started again.

He spotted a tell-tale glint at the far side of the pitch and took off at once. The Snitch hummed and hovered just out of reach and then as if spotting him, took off at the speed of light. Harry gave chase at once, stretching his hand out as he pursued his elusive quarry at break neck speed. The Snitch took a sharp right and he nearly swerved, but the broom held good and he snapped into action again. The Snitch fluttered indecisively for a second and that’s all he needed. Harry whooped triumphantly as his fingers closed around the little golden ball.

“Time!” Oliver yelled from the goal posts. “Thirty four minutes! Not bad, people!”

Harry swopped to the ground and landed smoothly, his fist still clenched around the fluttering Snitch. “Got you, beautiful,” he grinned. A sudden flash of silver eyes and soft, full lips assaulted his memory, catching him off guard. Harry blinked in surprise. Malfoy again… the git seemed to have permanently slithered his way into Harry’s every waking moment.

It had been a few days since his last ‘date’ with the blond. Ever since, visions of Malfoy had haunted him. His lithe, slender body, the way he felt pressed up against Harry, how he had looked when he had thought Harry was about to kiss him… the Seeker grinned. It had been a while since he’d had the chance to rile Malfoy up. It was just as much fun as he remembered.

Too much fun, perhaps.

Harry let go of the Snitch, watching it buzz away. Malfoy was beautiful - the ultimate prize. But that didn’t mean that he could lose focus. This was a deal and he had every intention of upholding his side of the bargain. But falling for the prat wasn’t part of it, and Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to.

A familiar flash of scarlet caught his attention suddenly and Harry grinned as he jogged down the pitch over to the stands. “Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted, kissing the witch on the cheek.

“Excuse me?” Ginny retorted, flicking her ever present cigarette. “Do I know you, stranger?”

“Very funny,” Harry snorted, sitting next to her. “I told you I was going to be busy for a while.”

“You may have mentioned,” she replied, releasing a gentle spire of smoke in his general direction. “Call me crazy but as official best friend and honorary fag hag, I expect a little more notice than ‘Won’t be around for a while. Stay golden. PS: New bartender at the Leaky - he’s hot.’”

“Fag hag?” Harry repeated dryly.

“You deserved it. Now, care to tell me where you’ve been?”

“Around,” Harry replied vaguely. “Practice and… other stuff.”

Ginny grinned knowingly. “Does ‘other stuff’ have a name?”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“I knew it!” Ginny crowed. “So who is he? Anyone I know?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re not shacking up with Justin again, are you?”

“No!” Harry blurted at once. Honestly, even he shuddered slightly at the thought…

“Good,” Ginny sniffed. “Anyone’s better than that mess.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry smirked. “Just remember that sentiment when you meet my boyfriend, okay?”

“Boyfriend?” Ginny squeaked in surprise. “You work fast.”

“It just… sort of happened,” Harry shrugged, rubbing his neck awkwardly. He had never been good at lying to her. Apparently Ginny thought so too. The redhead’s eyes narrowed again, taking on a calculative look. “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Ginny snorted. “Pull the other one, Harry. Look, I’m not going to go all Hermione on you and tell you how to live your life. But just do a girl a favour and promise me not to do anything stupid, okay?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Prat,” she giggled, slapping him playfully on the head. “Up for a quick one at the Leaky? I have a sudden craving for bartender on the rocks.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Can’t,” he offered regretfully. “I have to be somewhere tonight.”

Ginny smirked. “Other stuff?”

Harry chuckled and nodded, standing up to see her out. “Soon, Harry,” she reminded him as they walked over to the nearest Apparition point.

“I promise.”

Ginny nodded. “Nice broom, by the way.” And with one sharp crack, she was gone.

Harry stared at the spot she’d been standing in for a while. He hadn’t really planned to see anyone tonight, but all of a sudden the thought of Malfoy’s company was appealing. Damn, there really was no escaping the git, was there?

Shaking his head, Harry Apparated to his flat.

He only hoped that Malfoy was having as hard a time of this as he was.

****

Draco was pouting when the owl arrived.

As it turned out, Potter had the capacity to annoy him even when he was nowhere in sight. It had been four days since that disaster of a… whatever it was - Draco refused to term it as a date - and Potter hadn’t tried to contact him since. Not that Draco wanted him to. It would just be nice to know that the bastard hadn’t snogged him and then fallen off the face of the earth.

It was hard to explain why he was so angry. Every time, he tried to rant about the whole Potter taking him to Paris and kissing him and then not kissing him fiasco, Andromeda merely gushed about how romantic it all sounded and Father looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. Blaise in true form, proved to be as useless as ever and would either laugh or tell him to just owl Potter already.

Draco had no intention of doing anything of the sort. No thank you. If Potter had decided that he wasn’t worth the bother anymore that was fine with him! He was certainly not pouting over the fact! No way. As far as Draco was concerned, Potter could just go to…

The owl landed gracefully at his desk and hooted loudly, startling him. Draco abandoned his book and hurried over, relieving the bird of the parcel. A note was attached to it and he read it quickly (not eagerly).



Hey lovely,

I saw these and thought about you. Figured you could use some help expanding your horizons. Wear them for me tonight? I’ll pick you at 8.

H

PS: Don’t make me abduct you again. Much as I love indulging your naughty little fantasies, I’m pretty sure it’ll freak your father out.

Draco gnashed his teeth and picked up the parcel, fully intending to Incendio it. Another note slipped out of it and he snatched it up.

PPS: Don’t even think about. I’ll glue them on you if I have to.



Bastard.

He would, too.

Draco fed the owl a treat and watched it fly away before turning his attention to the parcel. He tore at the paper, unwrapping it efficiently and taking out the simple set of clothes. Thank Merlin. He’d half expected Potter to send lingerie… the thought made his cheeks flush and he dismissed it hurriedly, turning his attention to the present.

He recognized the denim trousers. Theo used to hide his stash of muggle magazines under his bed. Draco had spent many a night gleefully roving through pictures of male models dressed in jeans and not much else. Apparently, Potter wanted to see him like that. The thought made him smirk.

The shirt was a bit more of a revelation. A simple button down made of black silk with a silver dragon embroidered on the back. It would fit like a glove. Not to mention the colour would set off his pale skin perfectly… it was beautiful. No wonder Potter wanted him to wear it.

Draco chuckled and flicked it away carelessly. So Potter wanted to play, did he? Well, the prat may have one over him but there was no way he was going to tell Draco how to dress. Humming to himself, the blond rummaged through his closet. He selected a simple charcoal grey shirt that brought out his eyes. This would do. Potter could just wait for him to wear the black one, if he ever decided to. He eyed the jeans speculatively. He supposed he could wear them. They would certainly look fantastic on him. No harm in throwing Potter a bone, right?

Draco chuckled and sauntered off to the bathroom to preen.

This time, he was ready for Potter.

****

Harry flooed into Malfoy Manor at five past eight, immediately finding himself in the company of Lucius Malfoy and his graceful companion. He smiled as he recognized the regal witch at once - Andromeda Tonks nee Black. Apparently, she lived here now. Suddenly, he was thankful that he’d thought ahead and brought some flowers just in case.

“Mrs Tonks,” he greeted her warmly. “It’s been too long. And how are you, Lucius?”

Lucius nodded in greeting, leaving the pleasantries to Andromeda. “Mr Potter,” she smiled, taking his hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again. What a lovely arrangement.”

“For you, of course,” Harry grinned, presenting them to her with flourish. She laughed and accepted. “How charming. I confess it’s been a while since I’ve received flowers.”

“Shame, that” Harry smiled. He had always felt warmly towards Andromeda, despite her discomfiting resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. “I’ll make it a point to send a dozen roses across every day.”

“That won’t be necessary, Potter,” Lucius cut in stiffly. Harry raised an eyebrow as he noticed the tic in the older man’s jaw. Lucius shifted subtly so that he was standing just a little closer to the witch, giving Harry what looked a lot like a warning glare.

Ah.

The younger man nodded and disengaged Andromeda gently, taking a measured step back to ensure a respectful distance. He suppressed a grin as Lucius visibly relaxed.

“I don’t suppose Draco plans to come downstairs anytime soon?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He’ll be here soon, I’m sure” Andromeda explained. “He’s been expecting you, of course.”

“More like dreading,” Lucius muttered.

“Lucius!”

Harry grinned. “Things have been a little tense. But I’ll make sure he has fun tonight.”

“Not too much fun, Potter,” Lucius drawled. “We wouldn’t want you out of commission for the Canons, would we?”

Harry smirked, catching the subtle warning. “I promise to bring your son home unscathed, Lucius. Gryffindor’s honour.”

Lucius nodded stiffly. “Indeed. Which reminds me, Potter - how would you feel about a little one-on-one training with a former Falmouth Falcons seeker? A little extra practice for the Cup would certainly not go amiss.”

“That would be brilliant. Thank you,” Harry offered with a discreet smirk.

“A pleasure, Mr Potter,” Lucius replied.

Andromeda watched the exchange, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What…” she began, just as a house elf scurried in to interrupt them.

“Young Master Malfoy is being here, Mr Potter,” he announced, taking off again. Moments later, a pair of footsteps thudded across the plush carpeting and Harry turned around.

“Draco,” Lucius greeted smoothly. “How nice of you to join us.”

****

“Thank you, Father,” Draco greeted stiffly. “Evening, Aunt Andromeda.”

“Hello, Dragon,” she smiled, giving him a light hug. Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably as he turned to Potter. The man was watching him intently. Green eyes roamed his thin frame in interest and Draco tugged consciously at the hem of his grey shirt. He raised his chin defiantly, silently daring Potter to comment on his choice of wardrobe. The taller man raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead he stepped forward and took Draco’s hand with easy confidence. “You look amazing,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss to Draco’s wrist. The blond flushed and disengaged quickly, trying to ignore the tingling of Potter’s lips against his skin.

“Thank you,” he all but mumbled. Andromeda smiled and Lucius rolled his eyes.

“I presume you’ll be back at an appropriate time?” he drawled.

“I am not twelve, Father. I don’t have a curfew,” Draco gritted. That’s all he needed, being coddled like a child in front of Potter. He tamped down his embarrassment and scowled at the man, who looked far too amused for his own good. But to his credit, Potter stepped up again and put a courteous arm around his waist. “I’ll take care of him, Lucius. He’s important to me too, you know.”

Draco blinked in surprise but Lucius was already nodding and waving them off. The next thing he knew, Potter was steering him out the door and towards the gate.

“So Dragon,” Potter grinned. “Ever been to Muggle London before?”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco snapped, more out of habit than anything.

“Special nickname?” Potter teased. He raised his arms in surrender as Draco continued to glower. “Okay, okay. Relax. I’d like at least a ten minute head start before you start screaming at me again.”

Draco huffed but allowed himself to be shepherded over to the Manor’s apparition point. It was only then that he realized what Potter had said. “We’re going to Muggle London?” he asked uneasily.

“And what did you think I meant when I said we were going to broaden your horizons?” Potter asked with an amused smirk. “Why, you naughty little minx…”

“Nothing like that!” Draco protested, going scarlet again. “I just didn’t expect… do we really have to go to Muggle London?” His sheltered upbringing hadn’t exactly encouraged excursions to muggle areas, and the idea of being dead centre in their midst unnerved him.

Potter trailed a comforting hand through his hair, effectively mussing it up. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” he whispered in Draco’s ear. “You’re safe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Draco murmured, resolutely telling himself that the strange warm feeling in his chest was not comfort. Nevertheless, when Potter to herd him closer, Draco inhaled sharply and gripped the sleeve of his shirt tighter than necessary. Then they were Apparating, right in the heart of London.

****

The movie theatre thing was Draco’s favourite. Potter had taken him all over London in a few hours and yes, the streets were thronging with muggles but as it turned out they were happy enough to leave him alone. A few had tried to sell him things - most of them shiny - but Potter had waved them off. Draco pouted for a while, mentally resolving to come back later. Not everything had been spectacular though. Fish and chips for example, were bland and tasteless - no matter what Potter said - and the traffic scared him. Potter stayed by his side dutifully, occasionally putting an arm around his shoulders for support. Draco didn’t mind that as much as he should have.

Now they were watching something called a ‘movie’ on a huge screen. The room they were in was dark and there weren’t many people. Potter explained that that was because this movie had been running for a while now so less people were likely to show up. Draco didn’t understand that. If he had a choice, he’d come back every day just for the popcorn.

He watched the screen, enraptured. Who would have thought that a story about some Muggle king who stuttered could be so compelling? Potter had tried (unsuccessfully) to give him a little background on the history, but Draco hadn’t bothered to listen. He understood royal politics and conspiracies just fine, thank you.

So there he was, munching on popcorn and staring at the screen when Potter shifted subtly next to him. He put his arm around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him closer. The blond huffed petulantly but chose to ignore Potter. He was watching the movie, for Merlin’s sake.

“Do you have any idea how cute you look right now?” Potter whispered in his ear. “All enchanted and wide eyed. Do you know what it makes me want to do to you?”

Draco inhaled sharply. “Stop it,” he whispered, trying to shrug Potter off. “Someone will hear you.”

The Gryffindor chuckled. “Adorable,” he murmured, his lips brushing teasingly against Draco’s ear.

“Potter, stop,” he hissed, trying to twist away. There wasn’t much room and he didn’t dare get up for fear of causing a scene. Muggles were still unfamiliar territory to him.

“Why?” Potter pressed. “Feeling shy? Afraid someone will see us? Maybe hear me tell you about the dirty, depraved things I want to do to you right now?”

Draco’s world spun at Potter’s whispered words. His breathing hitched and he gripped the arms of his chair. “P-potter,” he whispered, as the Gryffindor flicked a tongue out to taste his skin. Draco suppressed a squeak. Potter pressed his advantage ruthlessly. “Incarcerous,” he whispered.

Draco gasped as ropes shot out of nowhere around his wrists, tethering him to the chair. In moments, he was completely tied down and… at Potter’s mercy. Oh God.

That thought should not be making him hard!

“Now try to keep quiet, yeah?” Potter murmured, making quick work of his buttons. His hand traced Draco’s bare chest lazily. “We don’t want any of the nice muggles to hear us, do we?”

“Potter, don’t!” Draco whimpered. Potter grinned and tweaked his nipple in response, making Draco squeak again.

“And why should I listen to you, hmm?” Potter asked, twisting the little bud with his thumb. His hand travelled down Draco’s chest, resting at the hem of his jeans. He undid the zipper easily, palming Draco’s raging cock through his boxers. Draco gasped and threw his head back as Potter thumbed his slit expertly. The Gryffindor kept talking, all the while continuing his ruthless ministrations. “You deliberately ignore everything I say. I specifically asked you to wear the black shirt for me, didn’t I?” He grinned as Draco panted and squirmed. “Keep it down, love. I really don’t want us to be interrupted.”

“Potter, please…”

“Call me Harry and perhaps I’ll think about indulging you.”

Draco gnashed his teeth in frustration. How the hell did Potter get him into these situations? How had he managed seven years in Gryffindor - his tactics had Slytherin written all over them! Potter raked his nails down Draco’s chest and the blond just about managed not to thrash about like a fish out of water. He was aching by now and he wasn’t sure he could last. “Fine,” he gasped. “Fine, Harry. Whatever you want, okay? Just… please…”

“Again,” he ordered gruffly.

“Harry,” Draco whimpered.

“Lovely,” Potter murmured approvingly. “I think you’ll be calling me Harry a lot more from now on, don’t you Draco?” The blond mumbled resentfully and the Gryffindor pumped his cock harder.

“Yessss!” Draco hissed frantically, jerking against his bonds. “I’ll call you Harry. I will, I swear!”

“That’s better,” Harry grinned, pumping him faster now. “And if I pick out something for you to wear, are you going to disobey me again?”

“No!” Draco whined. “I won’t! I won’t, Harry!”

“I know, gorgeous,” Harry whispered. “Do you want to come now?”

Draco nodded frantically, eyes wide and lips unmoving. Harry bent down to kiss him and Draco groaned around his tongue. Harry indulged himself with a lazy snog as he pumped Draco faster and harder. The blond jerked and mewled as Harry nipped at his lips in warning. “Come for me, Dragon,” he commanded softly. Draco jerked his hips and climaxed with a low moan that Harry immediately swallowed with his lips. He kept his mouth against Draco’s as the blond panted and shuddered, riding out the last of his orgasm. Harry broke away as soon as he was sure that Draco was coherent again. The blond stared at him with wide eyes, completely in shock. Harry couldn’t resist kissing him again.

“That,” he smirked “was spectacular.” He removed the Incarcerous and cast a quick cleaning charm on the mortified blond, pulling him close again. “I can’t wait to do that to you every night.”

Draco’s fragile hold on his self-control snapped. Every fibre in his being flared with absolute rage and hatred for the smug bastard sitting next to him. He pushed Potter away, righted himself as quickly as he could and stood up abruptly. Potter got up as well, clearly intending to subdue him at once.

Draco couldn’t handle it. He drew back and slapped the arsehole straight across the face. The sound echoed in the hall and the few people around them gasped and stared unabashedly. Draco didn’t give a damn. With one last sneer at Potter, he stormed out of the building.

****

“Fuck!” Harry swore as he raced out behind the blond. Draco was walking faster now, clearly intending to put as much distance between them as possible. Harry winced as his cheek throbbed. Fuck, the little chit had an arm on him! He hadn’t meant to get so carried away. Draco had just looked so damn pretty, and it was dark and… damn it! Now he had a furious fiancé on his hands, running headfirst into god knows what and it was pretty much his fault. He had to stop him before he got himself into any trouble.

“Draco! Damn it, wait up!”

The blond stiffened for a second and then took off running. Harry groaned and gave chase, catching up easily. He grabbed hold of Draco and twisted him around, wrapping his arms around him at once. “It seems all I do these days is chase you down,” he quipped dryly.

“Let me go!” Draco snarled, struggling furiously. “You obnoxious, arrogant bastard! Leave me alone!” He managed to throw Harry off and pushed him away, glaring daggers at him. Harry winced as he noted the wetness of his eyes and the slight tremble of his frame. Damn, he really was a bastard. Belatedly, he took a step towards Draco, hoping to offer some form of comfort but the blond was implacable.

“I have a wand this time, Potter!” he snarled, backing away defensively. “I will hex you if you touch me, I mean it!”

“We can’t do magic in front of muggles, remember?” Harry said reasonably.

“Didn’t stop you, did it?” Draco howled, pushing at him again. Harry grabbed hold of his wrist, keeping a gentle but firm hold on his fuming fiancé.

“I’m sorry,” he said, striving for sincerity. Honestly, he was not sorry at all. Draco had looked bloody gorgeous arching in his hands and Harry would do it again in a heartbeat. However, that was not what Draco needed to hear right now. “I got carried away,” he attempted . “I did, I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have… well…”

“Molested me in public?” Draco contributed shrilly. “Groped me in a room full of strangers? Utterly mortified me?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Draco snarled and stomped away, prompting Harry to chase him down again. He pulled the blond back. “At least let me take you home,” he pleaded. It was close to begging, but he supposed he deserved to grovel a bit. Besides, there was no way he could let Draco loose on the general public in his current state of mind.

The blond glowered in silence for a few minutes. “Diagon Alley,” he snapped finally. “You take me to Diagon Alley and then we’re going our separate ways. This farce is over, do you understand?”

“Can’t we just…” Harry began, trailing off at Draco’s death glare. “Fine,” he relented. “Diagon Alley and I’ll leave you alone, okay?”

“Fine,” Draco muttered, starting to walk away. Harry joined him and they walked in awkward silence. Draco stalked down the street like an angry cat and Harry despaired. There would be no talking to him like this. Maybe he could call in a few days and smooth things over. But somehow he doubted it.

They reached the Alley’s entrance way too soon for Harry.

“You know the drill, Potter,” Draco said, stepping aside. Harry sighed and tapped at the three bricks reluctantly, revealing the entrance. Draco walked in without a word and Harry followed.

The place was deserted, save for a few dim lights in the windows. The Leaky Cauldron was still open, no surprise there. Harry shuffled awkwardly, wondering what he could say to make this better. Only one thing seemed to come to mind. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Harry, I…”

“There they are! That’s them!”

Harry whirled around in alarm and drew his wand on instinct, vaguely aware that Draco was doing the same. His eyes widened as a crowd came out of nowhere, virtually descending on them. Draco gasped and grabbed hold of his arm. Harry pulled him closer without thinking.

Thudding footsteps rattled across the alley as people rushed in from every corner, converging at a single point towards them. People with notepads and cameras.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed. “Papparazzi.”

“How did they…” Draco began.

“I don’t know. Word must have gotten out,” Harry growled. “We should…”

His voice was immediately drowned out as the crowd surrounded them. For a second, he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of faces around them and then the questions started pouring out.

“Mr Potter! A quote for the Magical Inquirer!”

“What is your relationship with Mr Malfoy?”

“Is it true that you’re eloping?”

“Mr Malfoy, over here!”

“Get a picture of them, damn it!”

“Mr Potter, are you aware that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater?” That one was Rita Skeeter. She grinned gleefully at them, wearing robes of the most sickening shade of purple and holding her Quick Notes Quill aloft like a weapon.

“I am not!” Draco snarled, pointing his wand at her. Harry snatched it up at once before he did something he’d regret later. “Don’t let her get to you,” he muttered. Draco sneered but said nothing. Around them, the questions kept on coming.

“Mr Malfoy, is Harry Potter your mystery fiancé? Do you have anything to say to our readers?”

“Can you give us a quote?”

“Will someone take a damn picture!”

“We have to get out of here,” Draco blurted. He was starting to feel suffocated and the press of bodies all around them was making him frantic. Harry was a rock solid presence next to him and Draco latched to him for comfort. Harry nodded firmly. “Start moving,” he ordered. “Don’t answer any questions. Don’t even say ‘No comment’. Just keep walking.”

“But…”

“I’m right here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

Draco nodded and obeyed. The crowd thrummed around him, bellowing questions and clicking pictures. The flashes stung his eyes but he focused himself on Harry’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him gently but firmly. They managed to swamp their way over to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Inside. Now,” Harry ordered, pushing him through and following at once. He had the good sense to lock the door behind him, but that would only give them a few minutes at most. The reporters were already banging frantically.

“We need to get out of here,” Harry announced, as he barged up the stairs to the first floor.

“The Manor?” Draco offered. Harry shook his head. “That’s the first place they’ll look. My guess is your house is surrounded. My flat too. We’ll be stranded for days. Where does Zabini live?”

“Our place or with whoever he’s shagging,” Draco answered. Harry swore and smacked his forehead. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“What about your friends?” Draco demanded.

“Ginny’s out for the night and she doesn’t have a Floo anyway. Ron and Hermione are out of the country. That leaves…” He went over a mental list before coming up with something. “Come on!” he ordered, taking Draco’s hand. Draco followed him at once, running to keep up. The doors were open again and he could see the crowd pushing its way in. All he could hear was the thundering of footsteps and frantic yelling - it was chaos.

“Hurry!” he shouted.

“Incendio!” Harry shouted at the fireplace. It flared to life instantly. Frantically, he pulled out a bag of Floo powder from his pocket.

“You carry that around with you?” Draco demanded, flabbergasted. The reporters were running up the stairs now. He could hear them…

“I like to be prepared!” Harry belted back. “Now come on! We don’t have much time!” He threw the powder in the flames and they turned a fiery green.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” he bellowed, herding Draco towards the fire.

“We’re going to make it,” Draco cried. “We’re actually … wait. Hogwarts?!”

“Go!” Harry howled, pushing him through.

****

Draco Malfoy was not amused. This was the second time in so many weeks that he had been kidnapped by his barking mad fiancé and it was starting to tell on his health. If he had bags under his eyes after this debacle, Potter was going to suffer.

At least McGonagall had been helpful. Say what you liked about the Hogwarts Headmistress, she was good in a crisis. Save for the odd twitch, she had been absolutely calm during Harry’s brief retelling of their situation. She had then proceeded to congratulate them - much to Draco’s annoyance - and informed them that as long as there was no trouble or mayhem of any sort (that particular warning had been delivered rather sternly to a sheepish looking Harry while Draco snickered), they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

He sighed and threw himself on the four poster bed, noting with a grimace that it was clearly meant for two. McGonagall had graciously shifted them into a room at the first possible moment. A single room - clearly meant to be shared by a couple. He hadn’t even known such rooms existed in Hogwarts. Personally Draco would have preferred a spot on the floor in the Great Hall to rooming with Potter, but he was in no mood for more scenes. Potter would probably drag him back anyway. He would just have to make the best of it.

All these thoughts of Potter were making him rather cranky. Since the git was not present to rail at - having chosen to drown himself in the shower - Draco had to make do with muttering to himself.

“Hogwarts,” he muttered resentfully. “Of all the half arsed, hare brained, ridiculous things to say…”

“I panicked. And I didn’t see you come up with any bright ideas.”

Draco squeaked in alarm, then groaned and buried his head in a pillow. “One of these days I’m going to manage ten minutes without you sneaking up on me,” he announced.

Potter chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Draco turned around, readying himself for another round of bickering. Whatever he was going to say - and he was sure it had been something appropriately witty and scathing - was promptly forgotten as he took in the sight of Potter. The man had emerged from the shower, dripping wet and with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Potter seemed oblivious to his state of undress. He just walked around the room, all tanned skin and lean limbs and toned muscles. Draco’s mouth promptly went dry and his mind drew a complete blank. Potter had done some dastardly things in the past but this was just unsportsmanlike behaviour. What was he thinking? Did he plan to walk around like this when they were married? Perhaps he’d discard the towel altogether and… and now he was voluntarily thinking about marriage to Potter. Fantasizing, as it turned out. Draco fought the urge to jump out the nearest window.

Potter’s lips moved and belatedly, Draco realized that he must have said something.

“What?” he blurted.

“I said we’ll probably be here for a day or two,” Potter repeated, rummaging around for the shirt he had discarded. He spotted it and bent down to retrieve it. If he heard Draco’s sharp intake of breath, he ignored and blithely transfigured the shirt it into a pair of black pyjama bottoms. “Eventually, they’ll get bored and go away. We can transfigure some clothes and stuff in the morning. Oh, and I already owled your father and explained everything.”

“Lovely,” Draco sneered, smothering himself with the pillow again. “It’s a dream come true.” He heard Potter sigh and there was a rustle of cloth as the man approached him. Draco stiffened when he felt a hand press down on his arm, pushing him on his back. He yielded reluctantly, glaring distrustfully at the man looming above him. Potter hovered uncertainly and still undressed, damn it to hell. He was wearing the pyjama bottoms, and Draco tried very hard not to let his gaze linger on the broad shoulders and chest inches from him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this,” Potter said, sounding suspiciously sincere.

“I’m sorry too. Sorry you were born,” Draco retorted pettily.

Potter rubbed his temples with his free hand and sat down next to him. “Can you stop fighting me for just a minute?”

“No!” Draco snapped, curling up defensively at once. He shook Potter’s hand off and glared blearily at him. Mercifully, Potter let him go. “Why not?” he asked reasonably.

“Because you’re confusing me!” Draco burst out. “You came out of nowhere and you messed up everything and I don’t know why you’re doing this! And now we’re stuck here and…” He trailed off, unable to finish. Potter didn’t respond. He just watched Draco quietly, with that intent, calculating look in his eyes. Draco hugged his legs to his chest, glaring sullenly at the floor. He just wanted Potter gone.

The prat refused to cooperate. He held his hand out. “Come here,” he ordered softly. Draco scowled belligerently and stayed put, readying himself for another fight. But Potter didn’t seem interested in a row. He just kept his hand extended in silent invitation, looking patient and collected and everything Draco wasn’t at the moment.

“Make me,” he challenged sulkily.

“I could, but that’s not what you need right now. I’d much rather you came to me by choice,” Potter replied.

“Shan’t,” Draco snapped at once, smirking as Potter visibly prayed for patience. But when he turned back, his eyes were soft.

“Just come here, Draco. Please. I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

Draco had half a mind to argue that claim, but he really was exhausted. All he wanted was for this to be over, and the best way to do that was to just do as Potter asked. The stubborn git was unlikely to give up anyway. So he crawled over to the edge of the bed where Potter was sitting. He sat on his haunches and crossed his arms defensively, keeping as much distance between himself and his fiancé as possible. Potter wasn’t having it. He reached for Draco’s arm and pulled him closer. Draco followed but stiffened when Potter tried to pull him onto his lap.

“It’s okay,” the man soothed immediately. “I’m just trying to get you to relax. Come on, you’ll be fine.”

Draco muttered under his breath but complied. He straddled Potter’s lap, barely holding in a gasp as the warmth of skin pervaded the thin fabric of Potter’s garment. Potter felt warm and strong and firm beneath him and the faint scent of aftershave wafted around Draco.

This was a very bad idea.

Then Potter wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. Draco gasped as he was pressed against Potter’s chest. Pressed up against the man was torture, couldn’t he see that? Potter hummed and started rubbing his tense back. Smooth motions that soothed the taut muscles and despite himself, Draco found himself relaxing into the broad frame. Before he could register it, his arms moving of their own accord and wrapping themselves around Potter’s neck.

“That’s it,” Potter praised, stroking his hair now. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“No,” Draco lied. “Rub my back again.”

He could feel Potter’s chest rumble as he laughed. “It’s like owning a cat,” he quipped dryly.

Draco flared up at once. “You do not own me…” he began but Potter cut him off, wrapping his arms around him again to cut off any escape attempts.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” he said sternly. “Why does everything have to be a battle with you?”

Draco didn’t really know the answer to that. He’d been fighting Potter for so long. Was he expected to just stop? That didn’t seem fair. “I can’t just give in to everything you say,” he finally replied.

“I don’t want that,” Potter stated, moving to stroke his hair again. “I just want you to stop seeing me as someone you need to protect yourself from. I want you to trust me.”

“Why?” Draco demanded. “That’s what I want to know. Why this? Why now? What do you want, Potter?”

Potter’s hands trailed down his sides and Draco shivered against the touch. They rested on his hips and Potter’s fingers flexed against his skin, almost if he was trying to restrain himself. “Look at you, Draco” he whispered huskily. “Is it really so difficult to understand what I want from you?”

Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at Potter’s words. “So that’s it then,” he said quietly. “You’re looking for an easy lay.”

Potter snorted. “I’d hardly call it easy.” Draco scowled and pulled away. He glared at Potter and the man responded with a cheeky grin and tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind Draco’s ear. “You know if you’re going to sit in my lap and pout like that, I really can’t be held responsible for the consequences,” he warned. Draco huffed and made to get up and immediately found a hand clamped down on his arm. “Stop that,” Potter chided. “You’re being ridiculous. If all I wanted from you was a quick shag, don’t you think I’d have done things a little differently? In case you haven’t noticed, I am trying court you.”

“And doing a fine job of it,” Draco muttered resentfully. “You keep pushing me around.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t stand a chance with you,” Potter argued. “You’d destroy me.”

Draco snickered at that happy thought and Potter rolled his eyes. “Prat,” he scolded, pushing the blond back against his chest. Draco curled up obediently. He felt a bit better… less murderous, at any rate. All this talking was making him sleepy. And Potter was so comfortable. “Too tired right now,” he yawned. “I’ll… destroy you in the morning.”

“You probably will,” Potter muttered, as he shifted. Draco groaned in complaint as he felt himself being hauled up and laid down on the bed. He tumbled in the sheets, grumbling as Potter’s warmth retreated. “Stay,” Draco whined. It was cold. He reached out and pulled at his hand, trying to tug him down.

“And have you stab me the second you’re thinking coherently again?” Potter asked dryly. “I don’t think so. I’ll transfigure a couch.” He gently detached himself from Draco who scowled resentfully at him. Potter grinned and bent down, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Good night, beautiful.”

Draco listened, half asleep as Harry’s footsteps faded away. He curled into the blankets and fell into slumber, trying to ignore the small part of him that wished Harry had stayed anyway.

****

Lucius smirked as he glanced through Potter’s hurried scrawl. He scribbled back a note for the owl and watched it fly off, before turning away from the window. A disapproving set of brown eyes stopped him in his tracks.

“What?” Lucius asked.

“What did you do?” Andromeda asked sternly.

“Why my dear, I have no idea what you mean,” Lucius protested. “I just received a note from Potter. They were regrettably waylaid by some rogue reporters and decided to take an impromptu trip to Hogwarts.”

“I see,” Andromeda drawled. “Interesting how those reporters knew exactly where to find them, isn’t it?”

“A strange occurrence, indeed.”

“Very strange. It’s almost as if someone tipped them off. Someone who knew where Draco would be this evening.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something I don’t, Andromeda?”

“I’m not sure, Lucius. What I do know is that tomorrow there will be an announcement in the papers about Draco’s engagement to Harry. Everyone will know which will naturally make this a formal engagement, rather than a standard courtship. And of course there’s that little matter of them being stranded together with only each other for company. That’s rather convenient. Oh, and I also happen to know that the Prophet descended on Diagon Alley within minutes of an owl that you sent to one Rita Skeeter.”

Lucius chuckled. “I’ve always admired your admirable sense of logic, Andromeda. Now don’t be like that,” he chuckled as she glared at him. “I merely… arranged for Draco to spend some extended time with his fiancé. Surely, that doesn’t classify as evil.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she replied. “Love can’t be orchestrated.”

“But marriages can,” Lucius smirked. “Oh now, calm down. Love is a possibility. Marriages are certain. I am simply trying to assure the best for Draco’s future.”

“Well you know best, I’m sure,” she replied stiffly. “But if this blows up in your face - which it will, mind you - I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

“As if you wouldn’t anyway,” Lucius replied, allowing a grin to break out on his visage. Andromeda huffed indignantly and marched back to her room. Lucius chuckled fondly as he watched her stomp off. Belatedly, he decided to send out an owl out to Ferguson’s Flowers.

A dozen roses were hardly going to get him back in her good graces. But it was definitely a start.

****



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