Chapter 6: The Odd Couple

~*~

Never support two weaknesses at a time. It's your combination sinners - your lecherous liars and your miserly drunkards - who dishonour the vices and bring them into disrepute - Thornton Wilder

~*~

Style is when they're running you out of town and you make it look like you're leading a parade - William Battie

~*~

That day set a pattern that was to be often repeated. Now that the initial shock of their transition had worn off, Draco and Harry were able to throw themselves into the all-important task of finding a spell to send them back to their own time. They had searched in vain for a copy of the spell book they had been using the day their potion exploded, with little luck. Nobody seemed to know the whereabouts of Professor Snape, either, who had entered into the vocational path of being an Unspeakable and seemingly vanished into the ether. The nightly social outings ceased after the first couple of days, as the working week started and the rest of their friends went back to their jobs.

Harry and Draco then had the day to do as they pleased. Harry understood that he was taking a break from his career as a writer to contemplate new projects, and Draco had yet to learn about any job he might have. Not that the lack of a vocation bothered him. He had never been one to enjoy hard work, and was rather relieved that his future self didn't have a job that required him to abandon his occupation of professional laziness.

It did leave them with the problem of enforced company, and the tension that seemed to arise between them whenever they were left alone soon reached breaking point, and the sparking of several arguments. Every time Harry considered the feelings his future self had for Draco, he couldn't help but be baffled by it. He could not understand how he could find the slim, annoying blond to be anything but slim and annoying, and after the first few arguments was determined that somewhere along the line he had taken several bludgers to the head.

He was ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that spoke of Draco's peculiar attractiveness in the right light, the soft arctic grey of his eyes, and the way he smiled slightly when he was feeling pensive. Aesthetic values aside, any warmth towards Draco soon dissipated the moment the Slytherin opened his mouth. They seemed incapable of agreeing on anything, and taking a trip to the supermarket had proved so stressful that Harry had merely spelled in vast amounts of food using his new wand.

It was very different from the one he was used to. The added length of the shaft meant he had to compensate when performing even the simplest spells, and it was a pleasant surprise to find that this wand was much more powerful than the last. He could almost feel it vibrating when he touched it, and the strength of magic flowing through it was enough to send sparks from the tip. The first time he had tried a levitation charm with it, the vase he had been lifting had hurtled to the ceiling with the merest flick and smashed, showering them with glass.

Draco had been really pissed off that day.

Spending every day together had proved a strain on what was already only a scar of a relationship. Some nights they slept on opposite sides of the same bed, and some nights one of them took the sofa, just to get some privacy. It was around the fifth morning when Harry woke with Draco's foot in his ribs, and the third of many quarrels was started.

The trips to Hermione's library were a godsend, as they offered an excuse to sit for hours in silence, whilst they searched in vain for a spell, a potion, anything.

Both Harry and Draco had tried spells to make their search go faster, but with only a sixth year's knowledge of magic, their incantations were horribly vague, acting much like a Google search with only one keyword. The piles of books they had pored over increased by the day, and Harry would find his attention wandering after yet more hours of sitting on a dusty floor, his nose buried in some nameless tome. When the light began to dim, they would come to an unspoken agreement to go home, the silence becoming as much a necessary part of their communication as speech.

Both acted as if the other was something of a guest in their own world, both unwilling to entertain the possibility that complete indifference to each other was a lie to themselves. Acting in such a forced manner, if only to deflect more arguing, created a sense of frustration, as if there was something bubbling beneath the surface, aching to be freed. Never in their acquaintance had Harry and Draco been indifferent to each other. They had fought, they had rowed and they had kissed, but apathy had never been an issue.

Now, though, it seemed the only way to continue living together without killing each other. Apathy, it seemed, was beneficial in some ways. Without consciousness of the constant irritation, both Harry and Draco were able to appreciate the side to their former enemy that they had never seen before. Living on top of each other brought with it the unhelpful lack of privacy, and nothing could be hidden. Whilst this often proved mortifying, Harry also found it a way to get to know a side of Draco that he had never experienced. He learned about his habits, and daily rituals, the careful consideration with which he went about his business, and the intense thought that he put into everything he did. It was a new way of looking at the world, and Harry found his mannerisms fascinating.

Draco too was able to observe a Harry he had never known. He was more discreet in his watchfulness, but was still struck by the same interest as he surveyed Harry's quiet way of getting on with things, his appealing sense of recklessness, and his complete disregard for all decorum. It was a manner so different to the way Draco had been taught to behave, that it became a point of idle interest, if only for the lack of any more worthwhile entertainment.

Two weeks passed in this way, marked by their tension and forced tolerance. Each morning they would floo over to Hermione's library and spend hours searching through every book they could lay their hands on, and as evening drew near, they would depart, safe in the knowledge they had eliminated more that was useless to them, thus narrowing their search.

Something Harry didn't quite understand was why Hermione didn't remember any of this if it had happened in the past. His head hurt whenever he tried to get his mind around the concept of time travel and Hermione's look darkened whenever he voiced his query.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I don't understand it. Technically this happened in the past."

"Right."

"So I should have some memory of it, it's not like I'm going to forget something like this."

"Right."

"The only plausible explanation I could possibly give would skim the realms of muggle science," she said. Harry braced himself accordingly. "Every outcome of chance in this universe is based on a quantum leap, an electron spin."
"I'm with you so far," Harry replied.

"It was an electron spin that determined which rose petals you poured into that potion, but somewhere along the line, a single result of a chance was altered, thus changing history as we know it."

"That doesn't explain why you have no memory of it." Harry looked troubled. Hermione triumphantly slammed the book she was holding down on the table, almost asphyxiating Draco in a cloud of dust.

"That's exactly why I think there's some Dark Magic involved!" she exclaimed, punctuated by Draco's hacking coughs. "Your fate was changed by something or someone, but that same something or someone has stopped the rest of us from being part of that change. We are still walking the paths that we have always done, but you two have been turned off yours and put on another one."

"Is that an analogy?" Harry asked, rubbing his temples. Hermione nodded.

"Who would have done this?" Draco asked.

"Any number of Death Eaters," Hermione replied darkly. "You both gave so much evidence at various trials that it would be easier to count the number of hit lists you aren't top of."

"But why go to so much trouble?" Harry asked. "Why not just time travel themselves back to when we were babies and finish us both of quickly, thus supremely fucking with history and obliterating our existences?"

"Because travelling backwards in time is much more difficult than travelling forwards," Hermione said at once. "It's possible," she added quickly, seeing their jaws drop with horror, "but even muggles can travel forwards in time, but we have reason to believe that they will never in the future learn how to travel back."

"Muggles can time travel?"
"Of a fashion," Hermione said. "If they were to fly in a space ship close to the speed of light, when they returned to earth, they would have hardly aged but everyone they knew would be long dead."

"Why do you think they'll never find a way to come back in time?"

"Because no muggles from the future have ever visited this time to our knowledge," Hermione said solemnly. "Apart from Shakespeare and Elvis, but they were later proved to be wizards pretending to be muggles."

After returning from the library, Harry sank down on the sofa, and held one hand to his throbbing temples.

"I'm exhausted," he said, "and we've got to go to Ron's dinner party tonight." Draco groaned.

"Can't we skip it?" he asked.

"No," Harry shook his head then regretted it, "it's his birthday, we can't miss it."

"Great," Draco said sarcastically, and sat down next to Harry. "I suppose we'll have to play the roles of loving couple again?"

"Yep," Harry said with a mock cheerfulness.

"This day just gets better and better." Harry stifled a smile at the complete contempt in Draco's voice. He was useless at hiding his disdain for the Weasleys, and still considered Ron as far beneath him as ever.

The afternoon was growing old, and the first stars were peeking through the azure blue sky. Outside it was cold, and night wasn't too far off. They had spent the morning going through yet more volumes, with little luck. Draco had earmarked a few pages which he thought might be useful, but even he wasn't hopeful.

"I think with enough time I might be able to form a potion of my own," he said suddenly, "with Hermione's help. I mean, she works in the Department for Spell Development, she must be useful."

"You think you could do that?" Harry looked up hopefully.

"Possibly," Draco said, looking uncertain, "but only as a last resort. It would take a while."

"How long?"

"Two months, maybe three to calibrate the correct energies and build their strength."

"Three months?!" Harry looked aghast.

"I said as a last resort, Potter." Draco scowled.

"I can't wait that long," said Harry, feeling his shoulders gingerly, where all the muscles had knotted up.

"You're so tense," Draco commented. "No wonder you're always kicking off at someone at school." Harry shot him a scathing look, and he desisted.

"Well you don't look the picture of relaxation yourself, Malfoy," Harry said, massaging his shoulders.

"Nonsense," Draco replied. "I know exactly how to relax." With those words he got up and walked into the next room. Harry, intrigued for a moment, followed him reluctantly to see where he had gone.

He walked into their white sitting room, and leaned against the door, watching Draco sit at the glossy, black grand piano.

"You play?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

"Since I was a child." He flipped open the lid and ran his fingers lovingly over the ebony and ivory keys. Harry watched his hands avidly, they were so long and slender, tapering to a delicate nail, and looking for all the world like porcelain.

"Go on then," he said softly. "Let's hear you." Draco's fingers paused over the notes for a moment before he pressed them down and let them dance over the keys, moving a rhythmic, and well studied pattern. The tinkling of the notes produced a beautiful melody that twisted and spun in the air, creating a feeling of listlessness. Draco was a very fine pianist, and the song from his fingers echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating eerily in Harry's ears. There was a soothing, more peaceful ambiance created by the music, that did much to negate the air of hostility that so often lingered between them. The feelings of enmity were softened to the degree that the comfort that could be gleaned from each other's presence was forced to the surface, and taken notice of.

Without knowing what he was doing, Harry moved forward to where Draco was sitting, and placed his hands lightly on his shoulders. The note Draco struck quivered for a moment, before he let his hands rest, and a thundering stillness filled the room in the place of the music. The touch of Harry's hands sent a ripple through him, and his stomach clenched hollowly. This was not something he had been expecting, and a sudden flash of intimacy was not something he knew how to deal with. Harry, though, broke all the rules when it came to relationships, platonic or otherwise.

He leaned down close so his lips were brushing Draco's ear, and he said in his deep, gravelly voice,

"We'd better get changed. We'll have to leave before long." And he was gone.

Harry dressed very carefully for that evening. The extent of his wardrobe still managed to astonish him even if he felt at something of a loss when faced with it. He picked out a pair of dark jeans- Ron had told him to be casual -and teamed it with a black shirt and a pinstripe black blazer. His choice of silver jewellery complemented the outfit perfectly, and even his unruly mess of black hair seemed to shine like liquid jet around his cheekbones.

Draco had been made speechless when Harry had gone back into the kitchen. He could tell the blond was impressed by the look on his face, and it was with some gratification that he felt his eyes rake over his body, drinking in the sight of him.

"You like it?" Harry asked with a wry smile as Draco's eyes rose long enough to meet his. Draco seemed to snap back to reality.

"You'll do," he said, but Harry was sure he caught a glimpse of a smile before Draco went to get changed himself.

Whilst the blond had commandeered the bedroom and went about his ablutions, Harry felt the familiar nerves that he always felt before he went out to meet his friends. There was always the worry that he would do or say something stupid, or that he or Draco would blow their cover and they would be rendered even more vulnerable than they were already. Feeling restive and edgy, Harry spelled himself a bottle of wine, and sat down, watching the TV.

Draco reappeared some minutes later, and Harry was once again struck by the elegance that he seemed to be able to inject into even the most mundane outfit. The outfit tonight was anything but mundane, and Draco had dressed in a loose fitting pair of grey trousers, a tight long sleeved black sweater and the same leather jacket he had worn on his first night there.

"You look great," Harry breathed without thinking, and Draco grinned, looking more than a little smug.

"I know," he said. "The bathroom mirror told me."

"That mirror's bloody annoying. It told me I looked like I had a bird nesting in my hair yesterday," Harry said with a glower.

Draco sat next to him and ruffled his hair thoughtfully. "It had a point," he said. "What are you drinking?"

Harry looked at the label on the bottle of wine.

"Château Siaurac 2000," he replied, pouring Draco some. With the intense focus of a true connoisseur, Draco held the glad to his nose, breathed it deeply, before taking a small sip. Harry grinned. "You look like you could come just from drinking that," he said.

"I'll have you know that this is a very fine wine," Draco said. "Not the best, but then I wouldn't expect you to conjure anything spectacular." Harry didn't even bother looking affronted.

"What's so great about it?" he asked.

"Well it's from the right bank of the Gironde river in France," Draco said, looking at the ornate label on the bottle, "in the Lalande de Pomerol region, which is a part of Pomerol. Wines made on this side of the river tend to have a higher proportion of Merlot as opposed to Cabernet Sauvignon, meaning they had a much more full-bodied, fruity quality. They also mature earlier than those made on the left bank, which is why the 2000 would be particularly good in this time." He took another sip and paused to enjoy Harry's look of surprise.

"Why am I not shocked that you seem to know everything about wine?" he asked.

"I've been drinking this stuff for years," Draco said, "whilst you plebeians were all drinking Butterbeer."

"What's wrong with Butterbeer?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"It's just so low-class," Draco replied, fixing him with a look that spoke volumes.

"You know we've been invited to stay at Ron's until tomorrow, don't you?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering what Ron had told him a few days ago.

"Fanfuckingtastic," Draco said.

"That's the spirit," Harry replied absentmindedly. "So do you want to get your wand? Save taking any stuff for tomorrow."

"Good idea," Draco uncoiled himself from the sofa and retreated into the other room. Harry could hear him moving around in there.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked after a minute, looking at the bit of paper Hermione had written Ron's address on.

"Yeah," Draco called from the other room, "one moment." He came back with a little, navy blue box in his hands, and his wand in his pocket.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Cufflinks," said Draco, opening it and displaying a pair of square, onyx cufflinks. The word 'Prada' was embossed across them in silver.

"They're lovely," Harry commented, "but you're not wearing a shirt."

"I know I'm not, you dolt," Draco rolled his eyes, "but you are." Harry looked confused.

"Those aren't mine," he said, poking the box.

"No, they're mine," Draco replied, taking the cufflinks out and encircling Harry's wrist with his hand. "I saw them in my wardrobe and thought they'd look good on you." Harry didn't know what to say. He let Draco fasten the cufflinks in his shirt sleeves, and admired them as they flashed in the dim light of the living room.

"Thanks," Harry said, his skin mourning the loss of Draco's touch. It had been so long since he had been touched like that.

"Ready then?" Draco said, looking faintly pleased with himself.

"As I'll ever be," Harry replied, and picked up and handful of floo powder. "No. 13, Weasley Hollow," he said, and stepped into the flame.

*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as they climbed out of the fireplace at the other end, they were hit by a barrage of noise. There seemed to be an awful number of people in the spacious living room, and they were all laughing and talking, with music blaring over the magical speakers.

Harry felt a twinge of nervousness as he pulled Draco to his feet and looked around. Everyone was sitting down, glasses in hands, faces alight with happiness. They had only been there a couple of seconds before Ron himself came bounding over, alive with an infectious energy.

"Hey!" he said excitedly. "You made it!"

"Happy Birthday!" Harry found himself pulled into a warm hug, and Draco had his hand pumped up and down enthusiastically. Ron was suddenly distracted by the arrival of Lavender, dressed in a flowery pink dress, who dragged her fiancé away before he could complete his greeting.

"Let's go through," Draco said, motioning towards the next room where there were fewer people. "I think Weasley just broke all my fingers." Harry sniggered and, slipping into his fashioned role, put his hands on Draco's waist from behind, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder.

"You look bored already," He said, feeling Draco lean back into him instinctively.

"I'm spending the night with the Weasel," Draco said, as if that were the only explanation he could give.

"Try to be good?" Harry asked, nipping playfully at the delicate shell of Draco's ear.

"Only if you stop biting me," Draco said, but his tone of voice left Harry in no doubt that he didn't mind at all. There was something vaguely exhilarating about so intimate a gesture that was unnoticed and even expected here. Harry felt himself slipping seamlessly into his alter ego, this separate person that bore no relation to his true self. He wondered idly if these two facets of himself were merging into one and stopped questioning where his past self ended and his future self began.

"Ah but it's my prerogative," Harry said quietly, "as your 'boyfriend'." The gentle cadence of the last word made Draco stiffen ever so slightly.

"I may be having to pretend you're my boyfriend," Draco said, and Harry could hear the smirk in his voice, "but that doesn't mean you can view me as a snack." He was rewarded by another nip to the ear, and tried to bat Harry off light-heartedly.

"Everyone else is through here," Ron said, returning and steering them towards the kitchen. "You guys know Andy, Marcus, Lisa, Kara and Tiffany, don't you?"

Harry gave a forced smile, but was spared from answering by the man Ron had named Marcus.

"Yeah, we met at the Christmas party last year," he said, shaking Harry and Draco's hands. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," Harry said, relieved. He was even more relieved to see Hermione wending her way towards them dressed in a very pretty set of pale blue robes that opened to reveal a matching dress.

"Hi," she said.

"I didn't realise there'd be so many people here," Draco said, looking around.

"Don't worry," Hermione reassured them, "only a few of Ron's closer friends are staying for the dinner party, some more just dropped by for a drink."

A loud explosion turned their attention back to the room they had just exited. A cloud of greenish smoke was obscuring two figures, who had evidently just done something spectacular, as the people in the room were laughing and clapping.

"What the...?" Harry was going to ask, before he recognized the two figures. "Is that Fred and George?" he asked, excitedly.

"Yep," Hermione replied. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is still a big hit. They have outlets in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Thaumgate, the Manchester Wizarding Quarter. They've made quite a bit of money between them." Harry would have been able to guess that just by their appearance. Fred and George were dressed alike in robes made of the finest silk, with ostentatious gold brooches fastening their cloaks at their throats. They were waving their wands and obviously giving the guests a demonstration of their merchandise.

"What are they doing?" Ron asked, peering at his brothers.

"Looks like they're letting off some of their patented indoor fireworks," said Hermione with a smile.

"Oh for God's sake," Ron said. "Won't they ever grow up?" He stalked out of the kitchen. Draco, meanwhile, was eyeing up the selection of alcohol interestedly, and in the process of pouring himself and Harry a glass of wine.

"Drink that and get some culture," he said, passing Harry his glass. After Harry had taken a sip and Draco had declared himself satisfied, the two tumbling balls of energy that were the Weasley twins came into the kitchen. Their appearances had changed very little, and they were still the spitting image of each other. If it hadn't been for the intricately worked 'G' and 'F' on their brooches, Harry wouldn't have been able to tell them apart.

"Harry!" they shouted with one voice.

"Hi," Harry said, grinning,

"We hope you..." Fred said,

"...and your beautiful girlfriend," George continued, with a wicked grin at Draco, who scowled darkly.

"Have a good time tonight" they finished.

"Quite the double act," Draco remarked before having his hand shaken once more by both twins.

"Thank-you..." George said.

"We've been perfecting it..." Fred said.

"All night long actually..." George said.
"We're hoping to embarrass Ron later," Fred said. "We worry he's becoming impervious to our antics."

"I'm sure he'll be ecstatic," Harry said. "What were you doing, by the way?"

"Just demonstrating our fabulous..."

"...far-fetched..."

"...frambunctious..."

"...funlicious..."

"...fucking fantastic fireworks!" they said triumphantly.

"Bring the life to any party, for only seven galleons!"

"Maybe later," Draco said quickly, before tugging on Harry's hand to get them out of the vicinity of the twins.

"They exhaust me," Harry said, as they wandered back into the living room.

"You?" Draco asked. "At least you like them."

"I thought you were going to be good."

"Oh I am being good, Potter, I assure you," Draco said, sitting down. "I'm resisting all homicidal urges thus far."

"Thank you for doing this," Harry said, "and not blowing our cover."

"Yeah, well," Draco said. "I don't want to get found out either, so it's for entirely selfish reasons." Harry didn't reply, but he knew that Draco was here because it meant a lot to him, and he was very grateful. Luckily there were sufficient people in the room to ensure they weren't forced to make small talk with people they couldn't recognize. They were able to seclude themselves in a corner of the room, taking advantage of Ron's excellent wine, and talking quietly to each other. The absorption with which they conversed, a quality born of so much time in each other's company, made everyone think of them as two lovers who wanted to be alone. Which was, of course, the image they were eager to portray.

After half an hour or so, most of the people were leaving, either by disapparating, or by floo powder. Harry couldn't deny that he was glad, an evening with their close friends was as much as he could be expected to cope with.

He and Draco made their way into the dining room with Hermione and Ginny. The table was lit by dozens of magical candles, their flames glimmering in a delicate lilac, and giving off no heat.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said, taking a seat which had a fairy on the placemat, singing her name in a shrill, keening voice.

"Way to go, Ron," said Sean, taking his place beside Hermione. "This looks great." everyone else heartily assented, before they took their seats around the large table. There weren't many people there that Harry felt uneasy about being around. Guests for dinner included him, Draco, Hermione, Sean, Ginny, the twins, Seamus, two girls Harry didn't know, Marcus, Andy and the woman Ron had introduced as Kara. They were all talking animatedly, the candles casting a pale glow over their faces and a flush rising to their cheeks from the wine.

Harry and Draco were sitting next to each other, flanked by Sean and Ginny. There was hardly enough room around the table for all of them, but this was treated as a point of humour, and there was something faintly comforting about being crushed around the table with so many agreeable people, all laughing as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Harry slowly began to relax.

He could feel Draco doing the same, and listened contentedly as Draco and Sean chatted about all things sartorial, wondering if both of them knew just how gay they sounded.

Sean turned suddenly to listen to something Hermione said, and his attentiveness to her made Harry long for something like that. Someone to listen to and to enjoy their silences. He supposed the adult in him was crying out for something other than a quick shag behind the Quidditch shed.

"What are you looking so miserable about?" Draco asked, flicking Harry's chin to jerk him from is reverie.

"I love your sense of tact," Harry said sarcastically, even though his voice was light and his lips were smiling.

"You looked like that publishing cheque just bounced," Draco said, before his eyes widened. "It didn't, did it?"

"No," Harry laughed. "Stop being so mercenary!"

"Force of habit," Draco said. "At least you're looking less fed-up."

"I'm not fed-up," Harry said. "I just wish Hermione and Sean weren't such a bloody perfect couple."

"People might think we're the perfect couple," Draco pointed out. "I mean, look at us, we're gorgeous." Harry wondered if anyone with less confidence and assurance of his own beauty as Draco would have been able to carry off such an immodest statement.

"I can't see us writing romantic poetry or uttering words of eternal devotion to each other," Harry said, somewhat moodily. "Can you?"

"That's what you want out of life?" Draco looked aghast. "You should be shagging a Hufflepuff." He looked faintly amused.

"Thanks for that," Harry said, "and no, I'm not saying it's not what I want."

"Couples don't have to be sweet and fluffy," Draco said, taking another sip of wine. "Otherwise we'd have been doomed years ago."

"Hmm," Harry said, and he felt that pang again. The thought that he and Draco might not have the deep relationship he had always hoped to end up with.

"Oh stop looking so dismal," Draco said, scooting a bit closer to Harry to make room for George on his other side. "I'm sure you aren't with me for my skill at poetry." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't know," he said. "I've never heard your poetry."

"That's because I'm crap," Draco said simply, "and I wouldn't know poetry if it bit me in the arse." Harry's tongue flicked out over his lips for a moment, moistening it, and he noticed with a flash of surprise that Draco's eyes followed it avidly. "What I'm saying," Draco went on, momentarily distracted, "is that I bet we both have other-talents," his eyes darted shamelessly to Harry's crotch, "that more than make up for the lack of sap and pink hearts. I absolutely despise pink." Harry flushed, not used to seeing Draco so predatory and wondering why his body was reacting in so traitorous a manner.

"I'm sure," he said, and this time it was his eyes that moved to rest upon Draco's soft mouth. He remembered exactly what it tasted like, and wondered if he would ever get to taste it again. Draco seemed to know exactly what to do to set Harry's pulse racing. He bit his lip sensually, and moved close enough to Harry to allow his breath to ghost over his face.

Suddenly the other people in the room were of no importance whatsoever. Draco rested his arm on Harry's knee, a most casual gesture to all but themselves. Harry had to keep reminding himself that Draco would be doing this all for show, and that there was no real meaning behind it. Draco was probably a little tipsy from the copious amounts of wine he had drunk. That was the only reason, surely.

This thought didn't make it any easier to maintain control when Draco's fingers began to move backwards and forwards, tracing Harry's inner thigh and sending blood to the most unfortunate of places.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked suddenly, and for a moment he was gratified to see Draco looking faintly surprised.

There was a pause in which their eyes met and Draco looked at him steadily. "Curiosity," he said at last and with perfect honesty. "I want to know what all the fuss is about." Harry didn't need any further encouragement. He swiftly bridged the gap between his and Draco's lips, his hand snaking to grasp the back of the blond's head, holding him in place while their mouths met hungrily.

Draco was wonderfully warm against him, and he bit down on Harry's lower lip gently, mingling a delicious pain with the pleasure and forcing Harry to stifle a groan at the back of his throat. Harry, mindful of the people around them, moved his hand surreptitiously, to rest as close to Draco's groin as was courteous to do at someone else's house.

The blond pulled back suddenly. "We should continue this later," he said, motioning to where Ron was coming in, laden with plates. Harry nodded, touching his lips gingerly, and moving his hand from Draco's thigh. Draco glanced up at Harry for a moment before capturing his lips once more in the briefest kiss, whilst Harry squeezed Draco's hand and laid it on the table, hoping fervently that such intimate exploration could be resumed later.

Composing themselves, they turned to their host and gave their attention to the party.

Ron turned out to be a very fine cook, and had prepared a meal fit for any number of kings. Harry wondered if his friend had a house elf, as he had never pictured cooking to be one of Ron's strong points. He did not voice he curiosity, though, and there was a brief silence as everyone tucked in, before exclaiming over the quality of the food in delight.

The atmosphere in the room was warm and vibrant, with no unease and with much laughter as more and more glasses of wine were poured out among the company. Harry watched with amusement as either Fred or George Weasley tried to flirt with one of the unknown girls without realising that they had a piece of radish stuck to their goatee. Hermione and Sean were poking fun at each other in a quick, witty fashion, and everyone else around the table seemed to be talking animatedly.

"This is delicious, Ron," Ginny said after a while. She had swept her hair up above her head and secured it with a jewelled clasp. She looked very pretty, and Seamus was eyeing her beadily.

"Did you cook it yourself?" Harry asked, as Ron beamed at them.

"Of course," he said, as if the question had mortally offended him. "It's all natural, and home-cooked."

"Oh no," Sean looked despairing. "I'm trying to stay away from natural foods, at my age I need all the preservatives I can get." Harry laughed.

"I think this warrants a toast," Draco said, who, either from intoxication or his brief grope with Harry, was being remarkably amiable, "for cooking us this delightful meal, for acting the perfect host, and for bitching and moaning for twenty-six glorious years. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I've had a wonderful evening - but this wasn't it." Everyone burst out laughing, including Ron, for there was no hint of malice in Draco's voice.

"Why, you little prick!" he exclaimed.

"You love me really, Weasley, just admit it," Draco snickered, resting his chin on his hand. The entire effect was highly appealing.

"Do I look like Harry?" Ron asked, flicking Harry a wry look.

"Unfortunately not," Draco said, also glancing up at Harry, "but give me five minutes with you and a bottle of hair dye, I think we could make you look passable." Ron feigned an affronted expression.

"You can never beat a natural brunette," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair in what he engineered to be a pretentious way.

"Harry, mate, I hate to say this, but you're as gay as it gets," Sean said from Harry's left.

Draco smiled at Harry. "He's got a point," he said.

"Bit rich coming from you," Harry exclaimed, jabbing the more effeminate Draco in the arm, "how long did it take you to get dressed this evening?" he asked.

"When will people lay off my completely healthy interest in clothes?" Draco grumbled, examining it in the blade of a knife. "There's nothing remotely strange about it, it's not effeminate in any way and I consider it a perfectly manly pastime, thankyouverymuch."

"It's an all-consuming preoccupation," Harry grinned, leaned over and tousled Draco's hair until it was sexily messy. "Ponce," he said.

"Cretin," Draco replied, without missing a beat, "when it comes to my appearance I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best."

"I think we've all established that Draco has an unhealthy obsession with his appearance," Hermione said, looking fondly at Draco, "But I have to say that you're quite as gay as Harry is."

"We had gay burglars the other night," George said nonchalantly from the other end of the table, "They broke in and rearranged all the furniture. Our rooms are now 'fabulous'." everyone laughed, but both Harry and Draco managed to look a bit affronted.

"Any further disparaging discussion of homosexuality will be quite enough reason for us to hex you," Harry said primly. "Thank you."

"Like you did when one of us inadvertently pointed out the fact that your jumper was inside out?" Ginny turned to Hermione, who was rendered speechless.

"I was having a bad day," she said, with a righteous air.

"Oh, sorry," Ginny snickered. "That perfectly merits spelling Fred's mouth shut for an hour."
"If she's got a wand and/or PMT, I'm not getting dragged into it," Fred said, holding up his hands with a look of sheer terror. "Give Hermione a glass of wine and a spell and the result is usually both messy and painful."

"I'll drink to that," Harry said, raising his glass once more.

The rest of the evening passed in a sociable haze of banter, good food and the kind of agreeable company that lays a man open for anything. It was well past midnight before the plates were cleared away and Fred, Seamus and Draco lit long cigars.

Whilst the men smoked and discussed suitably manly business, the girls all moved into the living room to talk about that which is known only to the female race and a mystery to anyone with a Y chromosome.

"Why oh why," Draco mused through a haze of cigar smoke, "is everything I like either illegal, immoral or fattening."

"Well the easiest way to stop smoking," Harry took the cigar from Draco's lips, "is to stop putting cigarettes in your mouth and lighting them."

"Stop taking all the fun out of life," George chided.

"How's the writing going?" Sean asked. "Have you started a new novel yet?"

"No," Harry sighed. "I'm just enjoying being appreciated at the moment."

"It was featured in last Sunday's paper," Fred pointed out. "Did you get any good reviews?" Harry had read the article, and laughed aloud at the overly-insightful critics who seemed to find metaphors in the simplest of his prose and philosophies hidden in every line of dialogue.

"Those people don't actually read the books before they review them," he said, taking another sip of wine, "it just prejudices them."

"I read it," Sean said, "and they did call you very original."

"Yeah, well any praise from critics is just like a hangman saying you've got a very pretty neck," Harry muttered.

"I think we all know," Draco said, "that especially in Harry's case, any originality is just undetected plagiarism." Harry poked him in the side.

"Thank you for that, darling," he said mockingly.

"At least you're reaping the benefits of the good old Hogwarts education," George said, "whereas Draco here doesn't do very much at all." There was a twinkle in the Weasley's eye.

"Education is the inculcation of the incomprehensible into the ignorant by the incompetent." Draco said, satisfied.

"What in God's name did you just say?" Sean asked. Draco just winked at him through the haze of smoke.

"Now if I knew that, I wouldn't have said it."