One Harry Potter, Please

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Thank you very much for your reviews!

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One Harry Potter, Please

(If Possible, Seduced and Ready)

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II

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Harry didn\'t sleep at all that night. At least, it seemed that way to him. He was definitely awake until four in the morning when he sprang out of bed and hurried to the living room to see if he had dreamt a drunken Malfoy on his sofa or not. Malfoy was there, the top of his head the only thing visible beneath the blanket, the sight of that oddly endearing. Though, Harry thought Malfoy looked endearing when he scowled and insulted him so that didn\'t count for much. Harry fretted for a moment, wondering whether it was possible to suffocate in your sleep and did that mean he should come closer and rescue Malfoy from the murdering blanket, but Malfoy stirred then, so Harry quickly ran away to his bedroom.



He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes for barely a moment, but the next time he opened them it was already seven in the morning. Though he did not remember it, he must have been dreaming something pleasant because he had to spend the next couple of minutes visualizing Professor McGonagall wearing leather and wielding a cat o\' nine tails to make his erection go away. That particular vision had never failed him and today was no exception. Understandably disturbed, but relieved, he showered quickly and got dressed, picking out the dark red shirt that had thrilled the female part of the Weasley family last winter, which included Fleur, and she was not one to give honest compliments lightly. Well, Harry hoped she had been honest.



With vague plans to be friendly and hospitable, but not overly so — he didn\'t want to make Malfoy uncomfortable — he stepped out of his bedroom and carefully peered into the living room. It took him a minute to accept what his eyes were showing him. Malfoy wasn\'t on the sofa nor was he anywhere in the living room. Harry checked the hallway and the kitchen, and even his storeroom, though realistically, a grown man couldn\'t possibly fit in his storeroom, but Harry checked anyway. He barely managed to stop himself from checking his closets and the kitchen cabinets. But no matter how much he wished otherwise, Malfoy was gone.



Only after Harry had drunk two cups of coffee did he realise how ridiculous he had been. Why had he expected that Malfoy would stick around? To do what? Wait for Harry to make him breakfast and tea? Malfoy probably had an army of house-elves waiting for him at home, eager to serve him a fabulous breakfast and generally being a much more interesting company than Harry. He had no business feeling disappointed. He couldn\'t have expected that Malfoy would wait around and then, during breakfast, proclaim, "Well, Harry — can I call you Harry? — now that I\'ve spent some time with you I decided we should be friends. And then maybe after awhile, I\'ll realise I\'m totally gay for you, so we can go and shag like bunnies and live happily ever after."



Of course Malfoy wouldn\'t say that, of course he would have woken up, realise where he had ended up while drunk, and flee. For a moment, Harry entertained himself with possibilities he had neglected. Such as tying Malfoy up to his bed to make sure he couldn\'t run. Which was illegal and wrong. And it disturbed Harry he could even think like this, no matter how jokingly.



For the rest of the day, he distracted himself by cleaning and doing his laundry. He had even washed the blanket and the pillowcase Malfoy had used. He felt vaguely proud of himself when he stuffed them into his illegally charmed washing machine and closed the lid. He hadn\'t smelled the items once. He figured he deserved some sort of medal for that.



Going insane alone in his apartment, he had ended up at the Weasleys, which wasn\'t as fun as it could have been since Molly and Arthur were alone. But he had a nice, if frightfully enormous, dinner and only refused twice when Molly offered him to stay the night. The third time she had asked he accepted quickly and went to sleep in Ron\'s old bedroom. Unfortunately, that had been another bad idea. This wasn\'t his bed so he didn\'t sleep well.



Two sleepless nights caught up with him on Sunday. He stayed up late, flipping through channels on his television, horror flicks and detective shows not holding his interest. He ended up watching some inappropriate movies, and then went to the bathroom to have a quick wank. The scenes from the movies replayed in his mind while he struggled to not think about Malfoy, though the Muggle men in his fantasies were all suspiciously blond. Afterwards, he collapsed in his bed, exhausted, and slept so firmly he didn\'t hear his alarm go off. As a result, he was late for work on Monday.



By the time he had arrived, Malfoy wasn\'t there and Harry panicked, not knowing if Malfoy was still at home sick or he left on some assignment alone. The first option would mean Harry had imagined the events on Friday and Saturday, and was definitely crazy, and the second option meant that he would go crazy, especially if something happened to Malfoy because Harry wasn\'t there to stop it.



There was a package on their desk, and a closer inspection revealed it was a fancy box of chocolates. Expensive French chocolates. Surprised, he picked it up, frowning as two pieces of paper fell onto the floor. He bent down and picked them up, his heart beating wildly when he recognized Malfoy\'s neat handwriting on one of them. The note was addressed to Potter and Harry quickly read it. It said:



Meet me at Hogsmeade as soon as you get in. I\'ll be waiting at the Three Broomsticks.

Draco





Harry stared at the note, not daring to believe that Malfoy had bought him chocolate. Possibly as thanks for letting him sleep on the sofa? And not only that, he was asking Harry to meet him somewhere. In Hogsmeade of all places. Perplexed but happy, Harry almost didn\'t read the second note, but he must have known subconsciously that this was too good to be true. The second note felt like a vicious slap.



Harry,

The chocolates aren\'t as sweet as you, but they will do.

Your Secret Admirer





Harry winced at the cheesy line and scowled. How could he have thought that Malfoy bought him something? His mind had even strayed into a strange direction, and he concluded that since Malfoy\'s parents were in France, this meant that Malfoy was the one who bought him French chocolates. Because one couldn\'t possibly buy French chocolates unless they knew someone in France. Or something. Hating himself, he compared the handwritings just in case, but they were nothing alike.



He tossed the stupid box back on the desk, and, almost unaware he was doing it, dropped Malfoy\'s note into his pocket. Malfoy probably wanted to see him about a case. That was the only thing that made sense. Though still disappointed, Harry was at least relieved that Malfoy was prepared to wait for him instead of going off to do the job alone.



Harry hurried to Hogsmeade, not knowing how much patience Malfoy had, and wondering whether Malfoy had somehow managed to pick a dangerous assignment while Harry wasn\'t around to prevent it. He spared a thought or two for his \'secret admirer\', but dismissed his suspicions quickly. It was probably some poor deluded soul that still worshiped the Chosen One, rather than an actual acquaintance who would know Harry well enough to admire him and think he was sweet. Harry was willing to bet that he would receive a couple of more gifts and then the supposed admirer would stop trying and give up. They all gave up eventually.



Hogsmeade was filled with people and covered with snow, the familiar sight improving Harry\'s mood considerably. A couple of bad memories aside, this was still the happy place of his childhood, and Harry\'s heart swelled when he looked in the distance to see the many turrets and towers of the Hogwarts castle. He found himself missing Ron and Hermione, though he quickly quenched the selfish wish to have them here. Ron had saved up money and proudly took his wife for a trip around the world. They sent postcards regularly, their obvious happiness bursting from every word they wrote. It made Harry happy for them and sad for him. Sometimes, or rather, most of the time, he was sure he would never have what Ron and Hermione had.



It was no small irony, Harry thought as he entered the Three Broomsticks, that he was here to meet Draco Malfoy of all people. Why, had Malfoy sent him note some seven years ago, Harry wouldn\'t have . . . oh, who was he kidding? He would still run to meet him. Though, then, he would have been worried that Malfoy was planning something evil and someone would get hurt, but now he worried that Malfoy was planning to do something good, but would get himself hurt in the process.



Madam Rosmerta smiled him and nodded from behind the counter when he shook his head, indicating he didn\'t want to order anything. Nervously, he swept his gaze around the pub, spotting Malfoy easily. There weren’t many people around, but Harry would have picked out Malfoy from any crowd without any trouble. He was sitting in the corner, nursing a butterbeer, looking well rested and in a good mood. He even looked pleased when he spotted Harry walking towards him. Normally, this would cheer Harry up, but today it only made him more anxious. These days, Malfoy only ever got excited if faced with a possible dangerous situation. Cursing inwardly and regretting he had drained himself so much he had been late for work, Harry slipped into a chair on the opposite side of Malfoy\'s table, nodding once briefly in greeting.



"You\'re late," Malfoy said promptly, clearly pleased he had something reproachful to say to Harry.



"I overslept," Harry said, carefully not apologising. Malfoy hadn\'t apologised the last time he was late. "What\'s going on?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound curious but not worried.



Malfoy shoved a paper towards him, at the same time lifting the bottle towards his mouth. Harry had to force himself to look away as Malfoy\'s lips wrapped themselves around the mouth of the bottle, and Malfoy leaned back to expose his long pale throat, his Adam\'s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Sighing, Harry looked down at the paper to see two names and an address written there.



"Violet and Charles Jones," Harry read. "What did they do?"



Draco grinned, the sudden flash of teeth surprising Harry. It wasn\'t a happy grin, but a dangerous one. Harry still loved it.



Malfoy began telling his story eagerly. "Their neighbours reported them this morning. Apparently, they had heard some strange sounds coming from the Jones residence last night. Well, they said they\'ve been hearing all sorts of strange sounds coming from that house lately, but last night was particularly dreadful."



Harry almost laughed in relief. "Oh. This is a married couple, right? Strange sounds at night. Got it. We must put a stop to this," he said in a deadpan voice.



Malfoy scowled at him. "I know what you\'re thinking."



Harry doubted it. Malfoy had licked his lips and Harry had been trying to think of a sensible reason that would enable him to help Malfoy in this lips-licking business.



"It\'s worth checking out," Harry said quickly, sounding unconvincing to his own ears.



"It is!" Malfoy looked less cheery, but he was still excited. "Last night their neighbours heard a woman\'s voice crying out for help, demanding to know where she was and who they are. And they heard her mention, quite clearly, something called a gun. That\'s a Muggle weapon," Malfoy explained knowingly and Harry said, "Oooh," and nodded. Malfoy ignored him, and continued, "The Joneses, though you wouldn\'t have guessed it by their names, are purebloods." Malfoy looked pensive for a moment. "I think Charles is my fourth cousin twice removed. But I could be wrong. Either way. A pureblood couple and a Muggle woman crying for help?" Malfoy lifted his chin proudly. "I think we have a case. They are Muggle-haters, obviously." Malfoy looked away, possibly looking a little guilty. "We should bring them to justice. And save the poor innocent woman," he added quickly, and then said more quietly, "If she\'s alive, I mean."



Harry frowned, not sure what bothered him about this, except for the obvious. There was something about the description of the Muggle woman crying for help that gnawed at his mind. An image that tried but couldn\'t form properly. That just made him more nervous. There hadn\'t been any Muggle tortures lately. Small stuff here and there, the kind that the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department handled, but an actual abduction? How had Malfoy ended up with the potentially most dangerous case that appeared in the last few months? Harry wondered if someone had given this case to Malfoy on purpose. It made Harry hate all of his colleagues. If someone was trying to set Malfoy up, things would get nasty.



"See?" Malfoy\'s proud voice penetrated Harry\'s thoughts.



Harry cleared his throat, trying hard not to panic. "Do we know anything about the Joneses? Were they . . . Do you know them well?"



Malfoy\'s gaze darkened. "As far as I know they were never connected with the Death Eaters," he said curtly.



Harry nodded. He had been trying to avoid saying the phrase \'Death Eaters\'.



"Well?" Draco growled suddenly, his hands wrapping around the bottle in the way that Malfoy probably wanted to wrap them around Harry\'s neck. "A Muggle woman abducted? Possibly dying? Why aren\'t we running there?"



"Why didn\'t the neighbours report this last night?"



"I don\'t know!" Malfoy burst out. "Because they\'re idiots?" He stared at Harry for a long moment, as though he thought Harry was an idiot too, and then he stood up demonstratively. "Well, I\'m going to go and rescue some Muggles. You just sit here and gawk then."



As Malfoy turned to leave, Harry remained sitting down for a moment longer. He was frowning and thinking. There was something about this story of an abducted woman that was bugging him. Like he should know what that was all about. Unable to solve this puzzle, Harry reluctantly got up and walked out of the pub, trying to talk himself out of Stunning Malfoy and handling this alone.



He caught up with Malfoy easily, but Malfoy made no comment, ignoring him completely. Harry stayed one step behind his partner, cursing Malfoy\'s cloak that didn\'t let him see the long lean figure hidden beneath, and twirling his wand still planning to Stun him.



However, they reached the Joneses\' house too quickly, and Harry had to hurry to stop Malfoy from blowing up the door. Malfoy scowled as Harry pushed him away and knocked.



"Honestly." Harry shook his head as they waited for the Joneses to open the door. Malfoy looked very put out.



It took awhile for the woman to appear. She peeked outside, her eyes widening when she spotted Harry. She was a reasonably tall woman in her thirties, with brown hair and pale skin, her eyes red rimmed and face pinched as though she hadn\'t slept at all this night.



"Yes?" she said fearfully, as her husband appeared behind her, looking annoyed, but equally tired.



"What do you want?" he asked rudely.



Harry smiled automatically and forced his voice to sound pleasant. "Good morning. I\'m Auror Harry Potter and this is —"



An ear-splitting scream resonated through the house. Not thinking, Harry failed to do the obvious and run inside to see who was in trouble. He didn\'t even raise his wand. On instinct, without a moment\'s thought, his hand had shot out, grabbed Malfoy\'s elbow, and held.



Malfoy tried to pull away, struggling wildly, completely shocked. And then, out of nowhere, Malfoy\'s fist collided with Harry\'s jaw, sending Harry flying backwards as Malfoy freed himself and burst inside. His face numb with pain, Harry straightened and rushed forward, but it was too late.



The husband, wide-eyed and alarmed, had raised his wand and fired a curse straight at Malfoy\'s back.

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oOo

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Harry shot a Stunner at the husband just as the curse hit Malfoy. Snatching the wand from Mrs Jones\'s hands along the way, Harry rushed inside in time to see Malfoy stagger. However, Malfoy didn\'t fall; instead, he ran into the living room, as another loud scream echoed through the house. Mrs Jones was yelling something, but Harry didn\'t hear her. All he cared about in that moment was catching up with Malfoy. Terrified for Malfoy\'s wellbeing, he burst into the living room and froze.



Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room, his wand pointed at an object that made Harry gasp.



In two seconds, Harry\'s mind cleared and he didn\'t know whether to collapse in relief or laugh himself silly. It was obvious now, but Harry was certain he should have made the connection sooner. He remembered that while flipping through channels on his television set yesterday, he stumbled on a scene of a Muggle woman screaming for help, demanding to know where she was while a masked man held her at gunpoint. It all made sense now. Especially after seeing Malfoy staring at the large and loud television currently showing a cartoon.



"It\'s a box," Malfoy said in a quiet, amazed voice. "It’s a screaming box."



Harry bit his lip, trying hard not to laugh. "It\'s a Muggle thing. It\'s just for entertainment." Harry did laugh then, almost fainting in enormous relief. Malfoy was fine. Everything was fine.



Malfoy cocked his head, looking at the cartoon cat chasing after a mouse. The cat stepped on a random broom, and then yelped as the handle hit it in its face.



Malfoy flinched. "What in the name of Merlin —"



Harry\'s sharp bark of laughter was interrupted as someone pulled on his sleeve. He turned around only to get slapped for the second time that day.



"What did you to my husband?" Mrs Jones screamed, her whole body shaking. As Harry rubbed his sore face, the woman snatched her wand from Harry\'s hand.



"Damn," Harry whispered, coming to his senses as Mrs Jones ran to the hallway and yelled, "Ennervate!"



"Malfoy, this is not good," Harry said, a little breathless. They had just attacked an innocent couple.



"I agree," Malfoy said, still sounding amazed. "This thing is evil. It has to be. I\'m sure it\'s illegal to own it."



Harry turned to look at Malfoy, shaking his head in disbelief. "It\'s not evil. Don\'t you see? We attacked them and they didn\'t do anything. That thing isn\'t even charmed."



Malfoy frowned and considered this for a moment, accepting the truth slowly, but then he waggled his wand suggestively in the direction of the television. "It could be."



Scandalised, Harry whispered furiously, "No! Are you insane?" Then he paused and considered the possibility of setting this couple up so Malfoy and he wouldn\'t have to deal with the repercussions. Plus, he still hated the husband who cursed Malfoy. Disgusted with himself, he added quickly, "This isn\'t a Muggle area. The charge would never stick. So put your wand down."



Malfoy relaxed his stance, but he was still gripping his wand, his glare directed a little to Harry\'s left. "I don\'t want to put my wand down. That man still hexed me." Malfoy made an odd sort of movement with his shoulders, and proclaimed, pouting, "My back is itchy."



"That\'s because I hit you with an Itching Hex. Maniac," Mr Jones said, appearing in the doorway. Guiltily, Harry noticed the man looked dazed and was rubbing the back of his head where he must have hit it when he fell. His wife, who was shooting daggers at Harry, was helping him stand. Harry figured he had been a little too enthusiastic when he Stunned Jones; however, now was not the time to feel guilty. They had barged into a house and Stunned an innocent man who had done nothing but bought a Muggle television and apparently tried to cast a perfectly legal hex at Malfoy. Harry had to find a way to minimize the damage. Not so much for himself, but because of Malfoy. If anyone had to keep his record as clean as possible then that was Malfoy. He couldn\'t afford to attack innocent people during the first couple of months on duty. Everyone was watching him closely, waiting for him to make a mistake. Besides, Harry concluded that this was his fault anyway; he should have realised what was going on at once, and then none of this would have happened.



"Indeed you have, sir," Harry said sadly. "And well, I\'m afraid one shouldn\'t go around hexing representatives of the law, therefore —"



"He hit you!" Jones burst out. "I thought he had gone insane and would kill us all. You think I don\'t know who he is?" Jones rubbed his head. "I regret it now, obviously. You deserved that," he said bitterly as his wife exclaimed, "I hit him too." Her husband patted he arm, pleased. "Next time I\'ll know better than to protect you. Defeater of the Dark Lord or not," Jones said, as Malfoy made a small retching sound.



Feeling increasingly guilty by the second, Harry switched tactics. "We are very sorry. This was a terrible misunderstanding. Your neighbours complained about the noise, and we\'ve misinterpreted things."



The woman shifted her weight guiltily. "We just bought the box recently. We don\'t know how to turn it down and well, we\'ve been watching it a lot. It is fascinating. We tried Silencing it, but it didn\'t work." She straightened importantly. "This brutal behaviour was still uncalled for."



"As I said, we\'re very sorry. Aren\'t we, Malfoy?" Harry added through gritted teeth.



Malfoy mumbled something, but clearly no one heard him because the Joneses were still looking at him expectantly.



Harry turned to give his grumbling partner a significant look, in his mind willing Malfoy to apologise.



Malfoy looked back at him darkly, then scratched his back and stuck out his bottom lip, but eventually, he said, "I . . . apologise."



The Joneses looked moderately appeased, and Harry breathed a little easier.



After Malfoy repaired a painting that had been smashed when Harry had cast the Stunner, and Harry had showed the Joneses how to turn down the volume on their television, and then explained how the remote control worked, the Joneses appeared to be in a good mood. They spent five minutes bickering about which one of them would hold the remote control in their hands. The aforementioned exchange made Malfoy look really ill, and he spent long minutes staring longingly at the door, clearly eager to leave.



The Joneses escorted them out, and then, still smiling, the husband said, "Oh by the way, I do expect you\'ll be hearing from our lawyer soon. Have a nice day." And then he slammed the door in their faces.



Harry sighed, defeated, as Malfoy turned around and stomped off.



"This was ridiculous," Malfoy said when Harry caught up with him.



"Very." Harry rubbed his jaw that appeared to be swollen. It certainly hurt a lot.



Malfoy stopped walking and he turned to look at Harry suspiciously. "Why did you grab me?"



Harry gulped and opened his mouth, but no words came out for a while. He didn\'t know what to say. He wasn\'t really sure why he had grabbed Malfoy in the first place. All he knew was that in that moment he believed something dreadful might happen, and all he wanted was to keep Malfoy near and safe. Of course, he couldn\'t tell Malfoy that. Not unless he wanted Malfoy to punch him again.



"Well, I," Harry was thinking quickly, "obviously, I realised this was just a television set and I tried to stop you from doing something stupid. Obviously." Harry cringed and hoped Malfoy didn\'t notice Harry had said obviously twice.



"Oh." Malfoy looked sheepish for a mere moment, but then he turned around and said imperiously, "Well, next time try to use your mouth not your hands."



Harry groaned inwardly, chasing away the unwanted images that Malfoy\'s innocent remark had created.



"I don\'t appreciate being manhandled like that," Malfoy continued. "I\'d ask you to use your brain next time, but I suppose that would be too much to ask."



Harry kept silent, not daring to speak. His mind was full of thoughts in which he manhandled Malfoy and used his hands and mouth in various ways.



"Ridiculous," Malfoy said again, shaking his head. "I\'m just wasting my time. Someone out there hates me and wants me to get stupid assignments."



Harry looked at his feet, still not saying a word.



"We should go back to the Headquarters." Malfoy sighed, dejected.



Harry nodded, sneaking a glance in Malfoy\'s direction and noting that Malfoy looked extremely disappointed. He was looking forward to arresting the bad guys and saving the good guys. Another pang of guilt shot through Harry, so he quickly looked away from Malfoy\'s sad face and Disapparated.



To their mutual surprise they both appeared in the back alley a little away from the Ministry visitor\'s entrance instead of at the Ministry. They must have been trying to avoid each other\'s company, Harry thought unhappily.



Malfoy looked a little pale as he shook his head and mumbled, "This has to stop."



"I\'m sorry," Harry said defensively. "I didn\'t follow you here. I . . . I thought I\'d go and grab a bite to eat."



Malfoy looked at him sharply. "Oh. Of course. I suppose you have a date with Hogan. I don\'t know how you could possibly manage to eat without him." Malfoy\'s glare was icy.



Harry was furious at once. Why did Malfoy have to call it a date? Why did he act as though Derek and Harry were an item when they were not? And why did that bother Malfoy so much? Even if they were a couple, why would Malfoy care?



"That\'s none of your business," Harry said flatly and turned to leave, cursing under his breath.



He almost made it to the street when Malfoy grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Harry was too shocked to resist and he stumbled as he was forced to turn around. To his horror — and delight — he ended up pressed flush against Malfoy\'s chest.



Malfoy\'s eyes were wide, and Harry knew Malfoy didn\'t expect them to end up in this position when he grabbed Harry.



He should move away, Harry thought, but his limbs refused to listen to him. Why would he move away when his body had aligned itself with Malfoy\'s so perfectly as though it was a missing piece of a Malfoy puzzle? They were almost of the same height; Malfoy had an inch or two on him, so their mouths were close enough for Harry to feel Malfoy\'s hot breath caressing his lips. A little overcome, Harry rapidly made his decision — he would lean in and kiss Malfoy. He would. Malfoy already punched him once today; he might as well punch him again.



Harry leaned in a little closer, his heart pounding madly against his ribcage, threatening to burst out of chest. Malfoy even opened his mouth as though he would welcome the kiss, but instead of leaning in to meet Harry halfway, he spoke, "You have your cloak on, you idiot."



Harry blinked. Did that mean Malfoy would rather have him naked?



Malfoy released him and all but jumped back, looking confused. Or alarmed. "Muggles, Potter?" he said, his voice a little hoarse.



Realisation hit Harry — he was about to step on a Muggle street in a cloak in the middle of a day. Right. That wasn\'t a good idea and Malfoy simply tried to stop him. He didn\'t want to randomly hug Harry, or kiss him, or have him naked.



"I forgot," Harry said, breathless. Shakily, he transfigured his cloak into a coat, trying to calm down. He had broken his no-Malfoy-touching rule twice today. Things were getting worse. And Malfoy — Harry looked up to see Malfoy transfigure his own cloak, his own hands shaking a little — Malfoy looked freaked out. With good reason. Harry was much too close to simply jumping him and deal with the consequences later. Clearing his throat and recovering slowly, Harry said, "Next time, use your mouth not your hands."



Malfoy looked taken aback, but then his mouth twitched, and he almost smiled. "Funny, Potter." Coming closer and still almost smiling, he gave Harry a furtive sort of look. "I could . . ." Malfoy waved his wand, "heal that for you," he said, looking at Harry\'s jaw. "It looks awful."



"Sure." Harry swallowed, nodding, amazed that Malfoy had offered. Was Malfoy trying to off him with strange proposition? Did he suspect how Harry felt and was now teasing him? Ridiculing him? Because this was crazy. This was almost an apology; Malfoy even looked troubled, as though he truly regretted hitting Harry.



Harry stood still and held his breath as Malfoy approached and gently pressed the tip of his wand to Harry\'s jaw. Malfoy frowned and placed his palm to Harry\'s cheek, making him tilt his head a little. Taking another shuddering breath, Harry could not stop himself from leaning into Malfoy\'s touch, marvelling at the perfection of that contact. The tingles of the healing spell had nothing on the tingles that spread from Malfoy\'s palm, magically warming Harry\'s entire body. Harry stared at Malfoy\'s concentrated expression, admiring Malfoy\'s cheekbones and the small lines that appeared around his eyes as he focused his gazed on Harry\'s bruise. His face was so close. Harry was almost hyperventilating, giddily realising that not only had he broken his no-touching rule today, but Malfoy had touched him twice now. Voluntarily.



"There." Malfoy stepped back, moving his hand and wand away. Harry\'s cheek felt cold without Malfoy\'s palm warming it. "Perfect," Malfoy proclaimed, staring at Harry\'s face, probably admiring his work.



"Thanks." Harry\'s cheeks warmed up and he quickly looked away, fearing he was blushing. "We should . . ." He waved towards the street and Malfoy blinked a couple of times, as though confused about something, but then he said, "Oh. Right."



As they walked toward the telephone box, Harry attempted to calm his steps, trying in vain not to bounce. He was feeling incredibly cheerful. His jaw no longer hurt and Malfoy touched him without showing any sign of disgust. This day seemed quite brilliant all of a sudden.



They were nearing the diner, and Harry was just about to suggest they should go in and have lunch when Malfoy\'s expression darkened. He stared at the diner for a moment and then gave Harry a nasty look, revulsion clear in his face.



"Your boyfriend is waiting for you," he said — almost spat— the words, and then turned around and left.



Confused, Harry looked at the diner and spotted Derek, who was waving enthusiastically, smiling his broad smile.



"He\'s not my boyfriend," Harry said sadly, but Malfoy was too far away to hear him. No longer happy, Harry sighed and walked into the diner.

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oOo

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The rest of the day was as boring and uneventful as Harry\'s days usually were lately. They had a couple of more assignments, handpicked by Harry, and then went to their separate ways. Harry said he had to do something and then Malfoy said he had to do something as well. Harry waited for Malfoy to leave and then he rushed to see their Head of Department. He told her what happened this morning, altering the story a little, and assuring her that he had known what was going on all along but he didn\'t say anything to Malfoy because he thought the result would be funny. The Head of the Department was appalled and though she eventually promised she\'d take care of it, she told Harry that he was stuck with Malfoy until the two of them stop acting childish and learn to get along. Harry hated himself after he realised this threat had cheered him up considerably.



He arrived home very late because he had been walking around and spent hours not thinking about Malfoy\'s palm on his cheek. Eventually, the cold chased him to his apartment and he was surprised to find an unfamiliar owl waiting for him on the kitchen table.



The owl brought him a package containing an expensive looking bottle of wine and a letter from his secret admirer. This letter was longer and amorous, and it made Harry blush against his will. It was soothing and flattering to see such kind and passionate words directed at him. The owl waited, presumably for a response, but Harry chased it away. Lovely though the letter had been, he had no wish to encourage this person.



As the owl flew away and Harry was closing the window, a dark shape in the street caught his gaze. It wouldn\'t be an unusual occurrence to see someone skulking about in the dead of night, but Harry was positive this was a wizard because the person was wearing a cloak. This was a Muggle neighbourhood and, Malfoy\'s supposed friends aside, he didn\'t know of any wizards that lived nearby. Harry\'s suspicions turned out to be true when the owl that brought him the bottle flew directly at the person standing in the dark.



Unnerved, Harry quickly closed the window and tuned off the lights, casting several charms on the bottle, making sure it wasn\'t cursed. It was hard for him to determine how he felt about this, but if he was to give a name to the emotions that had possessed him, he would say that this made him nervous. Whoever this person was, he was serious. And Harry was no longer sure in his initial assessment — if this guy was hanging around his building at night, it was unlikely he would give up easily.

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oOo

---

During the next two weeks Harry was getting increasingly nervous. Though, perhaps nervous wasn\'t the best description. Flustered would be more exact. There were several reasons for this, but his persistent secret admirer was the definite cause. First, the gifts hadn\'t stop coming; on the contrary, Harry would find a little something on his desk at work every morning and then a little something when he arrived home. The owl — never the same one — that waited for him in his apartment would always linger, presumably waiting for Harry\'s response, but Harry always shooed it away. But the gifts weren’t troubling Harry all that much; the letters that arrived with the gifts troubled him a lot more.



They were sweet and innocent at first, flattering but vague. But rapidly, they were becoming a lot less vague and a lot more sexually explicit.



Whoever this was, Harry was certain that the person knew him well, and he didn\'t know whether to find this comforting or even more worrying. What he did find worrying were the detailed descriptions of what this stranger wanted to do to Harry and what he wanted Harry to do to him. It was nothing terribly obscene, or conflicting with Harry\'s own tastes; however, it made Harry uncomfortable to read some stranger\'s sexual fantasies.



But he did read them. All of them. A few, he had read several times.



Harry didn\'t consider himself very inexperienced, but there were quite a few things that he wanted to try but had never had a chance to actually do; things he had wondered whether it was normal to wish or he was being a bit odd because his brain had been polluted by Muggle movies he liked to watch. But here this person was — sharing Harry\'s fantasies and even expanding them. Harry hated himself a little more every day, as he swallowed every written word eagerly.



He was just starved, he assured himself. Starved for acceptance. Though, not acceptance of a stranger, but Malfoy\'s acceptance. There was a little corner of Harry\'s brain, just a small treacherous part that liked to pretend that Malfoy was sending him these letters and presents. Harry had fantasized a complete scenario: Malfoy was his secret admirer, and he was only pretending not to like Harry because he thought Harry didn\'t like him, but of course, he just couldn’t stay away, so he tried to seduce Harry by other means.



This turned into Harry\'s favorite fantasy. He amused and depressed himself with it quite a few times, until, eventually, he concluded he was pathetic.



Malfoy, of course, was not his secret admirer. Harry wasn\'t as far-gone to entertain that thought in all seriousness. Not only was that ridiculous, but Malfoy was clearly getting more and more agitated by every gift and letter Harry received at work. At times, Harry was sure he could hear Malfoy gnashing his teeth.



Which was the second reason why Harry was feeling flustered. Not only was Malfoy constantly in a bad mood — worse than usual, if possible — but Harry just couldn’t figure out what was Malfoy\'s problem. He realized that Malfoy had a problem with Harry being gay, and he realized that he didn\'t want to spend time with Harry especially if that time included Derek — Malfoy was probably afraid he would witness some unwanted interaction — but why would it trouble him so much that there was someone sending Harry gifts? Harry\'s gifts should not have affected Malfoy in any way.



Though, if he was to be honest with himself, Harry supposed this did affect Malfoy in one way. Harry had actually eaten all that chocolate sent to him, because it was delicious and it was chocolate and it made him feel better. But as a result, he was possibly just a little sugar-high, and a little testy. He might have been snappish with Malfoy on more than one occasion. Though, maybe he couldn’t blame sugar for that. Illogically, he was angry at Malfoy because he wasn\'t Harry\'s secret admirer; irritated, because he wanted Malfoy to say those words to him; he didn\'t want to receive them from an unknown, and possibly obsessed and sexually crazed, stranger.



Harry\'s bad mood reached its height on Friday. As always, Friday was the worst day of the week, but this one was particularly dreadful. The day had been dull and uneventful, the height of the day involving the rescue of a jarvey from a tall tree. The magical creature had somehow managed to get stuck between the branches and a crying girl had called them for help. At the time, they had assumed that the name Jessie stood for her little brother, and Malfoy was crazily excited at the thought of rescuing an innocent child. Harry concluded the task wasn\'t dangerous so they had left in a hurry to a large farm near a small village with Malfoy practically bouncing all the way.



Malfoy\'s disappointment was difficult to watch, and Harry promised himself he\'d let him go on a more exciting assignment one of these days. Though, Harry promised himself that almost every day.



The girl was still distressed and Malfoy was pouting so Harry had climbed upon the tree, and tried to rescue the shivering jarvey. He had tried using magic, but the Levitation Spell had rebounded from the animal\'s thick fur. Then, Harry tried to reach for the jarvey with his hand but the thing almost bit him.



"Maybe you should sweet-talk him?" Malfoy suggested from bellow.



Harry looked down at the blond standing beneath the tree, directly below Harry. Good, Harry thought irritably, if he slipped, Malfoy would break his fall. Nonetheless, Harry tried as Malfoy suggested.



"Come here, Jessie. It\'s okay," he said sweetly.



"Stupid piece of arse!" the jarvey cried, still shaking.



Malfoy laughed heartily. "I forgot how much I like jarveys," he said fondly. "Enchanting creatures. Aren\'t you, Jessie?" Malfoy cooed.



"Faggot!" Jarvey screamed, glaring down at Malfoy.



As Harry laughed, Malfoy stopped smiling; instead, he twirled his wand in his hand. "I think we should just Stun him."



"No!" yelled the girl standing a little farther away. "He\'s just scared, so he\'s lashing out. He\'s the sweetest thing normally. Right, Jessie?"



"Idiot airhead!" Jarvey wailed.



Undaunted, the girl gushed, "Isn\'t he adorable?"



Seizing the moment as the Jarvey was distracted, Harry lunged and grabbed it. The jarvey screamed and scratched and insulted Harry with words a little girl shouldn\'t hear. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy had stood behind the girl and firmly placed his palms on her head, covering her ears. Amused but busy, Harry gritted his teeth, trying to keep the creature in his grasp as he climbed down as quickly as he could. He had almost reached the ground with one foot when the jarvey twisted, bit Harry\'s hand and ran away towards the ground. Harry yelped and released the branch he was holding on to. His leg found no purchase and he hit the ground awkwardly, landing on his feet. Pain shot through his legs and his knees screeched and buckled. He would have fallen and probably broken something, but suddenly there was a small pop and a body pressed against his back, arms wrapping firmly around his waist, holding him upright.



Harry took a sharp breath, unable to believe that Malfoy had just Apparated — because he must have Apparated since he was standing too far away to reach Harry so quickly — to save him. And not from mortal danger but from a broken leg. But Harry couldn\'t focus on that thought for too long. Not with Malfoy pressed so close to him, practically hugging Harry while Harry\'s arse nestled right against Malfoy\'s crotch, the latter fact making Harry wish he could freeze this moment and stay this close to Malfoy forever.



But it didn\'t last forever, merely a few moments. And then, Malfoy jumped back so fast Harry suspected he had Apparated again. As he turned around, Harry could still feel Malfoy\'s grip around his waist, and he could feel that his trousers felt a little too tight all of a sudden. Malfoy looked pale, almost alarmed, but he composed himself quickly.



"Thank you," Harry breathed out, remembering his manners.



Malfoy swallowed and took another step back. "I\'m an Auror. It\'s my job to rescue people."



Despite his ragged breathing and the overwhelming sadness at seeing Malfoy edging away from him like that, Harry laughed. "You really took that task to heart."



Malfoy\'s eyes narrowed, as though Harry had accused him of something. "Your point?"



"Er, I don\'t have one. I\'m just impres—"



"Got you!" the girl yelled suddenly and both Malfoy and Harry looked over.



She was cradling the Jarvey in her arms, cooing at him and rocking him gently. "There, there. It\'s all right now."



"I hate you," the jarvey said in a petulant voice, though he sounded more terrified than angry.



The girl waved at them happily. "Thank you!" she said and ran towards the house as the jarvey still mumbled, "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."



Malfoy smiled a little. "That thing is cute." Then he quickly stopped smiling and added, "Moderately. If you like furry creatures. Which I don\'t."



Harry bit his lip and dug his heels into the ground. He was possessed with a sudden urge to grab Malfoy and kiss him until one of them faints. Or at least, he could ask Malfoy to heal the bite on Harry\'s hand. But of course, that would have been silly since Harry could easily heal that himself. Besides, he was having trouble walking as it was, too much Malfoy proximity and Harry\'s erection would never go away.



"Coming?" Malfoy asked, eying Harry.



Harry groaned and said, "Yeah," then Apparated to the Ministry.



Yes, he definitely hated Fridays.



He hated them even more when he realised that Fridays meant Harry wouldn\'t see Malfoy for two days (unless Malfoy would appear with a pencil or a paperweight on his doorstep again, but Harry didn\'t dare to hope for such a thing to happen twice) and as usual, it meant staying at work late, trying to do the paperwork and not thinking about pinning Malfoy to the desk and ravishing him. Both of these things were hard to achieve and Harry had failed to pull them off. Especially the "not thinking about ravishing Malfoy" one.



The memory of Malfoy\'s firm thighs pressed against his was too vivid in Harry\'s mind and the acute awareness that their booted toes are touching as they sat at their desk was driving Harry crazy. To make things worse, a letter and another box of chocolates had arrived for him, making Malfoy glare and scowl.



Harry shifted in his seat, worried after he concluded this meant that whoever was sending him gifts knew Harry would arrive home late today so he had sent the letter here.



Harry shouldn\'t have read it. Not in front of Malfoy. Not while he was still hard because of their earlier close encounter. But even though he knew he shouldn\'t, Harry quickly opened the letter and devoured every seductive word.



"Is it porn?"



Harry\'s gaze snapped up to meet Malfoy\'s dark gaze.



"What?" Harry asked, thinking he misheard.



"Is — it — porn?" Malfoy said again, very slowly. "You\'re blushing, Potter."



"Of course not!" Harry said, not sure whether he was denying his blush or the fact that the letter contained porn. He was lying either way.



"Mmm." Malfoy pursed his lips, and looked back down at his papers.



"It\'s none of your business," Harry said, a little belatedly, but Malfoy made no further comment.



Annoyed, Harry reached for some chocolate but the box was empty. It was unlikely that his admirer had sent him an empty box. Which meant Malfoy had been sitting there eating chocolate while Harry was absorbed in reading his letter. Who knew how long Malfoy had been watching him. Harry felt a new wave of heat hit his cheeks.



"They could have been cursed, you know," he told Malfoy, annoyance clear in his voice.



Malfoy didn\'t even look up or stopped writing. "I doubt it," he said calmly. "Why on earth would your boyfriend send you cursed chocolates? Trouble in paradise?"



"These aren\'t from my boyfriend," Harry bristled, but then immediately regretted it. Why had he told Malfoy that?



Malfoy gave a false little gasp, but didn\'t look up. "You\'ve been naughty! What will your boyfriend say when he learns someone else is sending you chocolates? And porn."



"I don\'t have a boyfriend. And it\'s not porn."



That made Malfoy look up, the look in his eyes still stormy, confusing Harry for a moment. "Then who is sending you all these gifts? The Easter Bunny?" Malfoy frowned. "Well, I suppose that would explain the excessive amounts of chocolate."



Harry\'s hand gripped the letter tighter. The almost angry look in Malfoy\'s eyes made him feel defensive. "That\'s none of your fucking business," Harry growled, feeling the muscle in his jaw twitching.



Malfoy\'s eyes widened. "You said fucking. You never say fucking." He glanced at the letter in Harry\'s hand. "Porn it is then."



Harry swallowed, trying to calm down. He was getting truly upset though he wasn\'t sure why. This whole thing seemed stupid suddenly. Malfoy thought these gifts were from Harry\'s boyfriend, which would be normal. If he found out that Harry had been eagerly reading letters from a complete stranger, he would surely laugh himself silly. He would gloat and say he had always known Harry was too easily seduced by faltering words of the Boy Who Lived worshipers.



Before Harry had managed to think of something to say, Malfoy\'s hand shot out and he grabbed the letter. Harry was gripping it too tightly, however, so the letter tore in half.



Panicking, Harry reached for his wand and yelled, "Evanesco!"



Both pieces, the one in Harry\'s hand and the one Malfoy had been reading, vanished at once. For a moment, Harry stared at Malfoy, terrified that Malfoy had read the racier bits of the letter. If he had, he would make fun of Harry forever.



Malfoy\'s expression was unreadable, but he didn\'t look like he was about to make fun of Harry.



"A secret admirer?" Malfoy said slowly, incredulously. "Please tell me you\'re not going."



"Going?" Harry frowned, confused.



"To this blind date," Malfoy said impatiently and Harry regretted he didn\'t finish reading the letter. He knew nothing about a date. Malfoy was fuming as he continued, "With a complete stranger. Who is sending you porn. Yes, I saw it," he added when Harry quickly shook his head.



"This is none of your business," Harry said for what felt like the fifth time that evening.



"Of course it\'s my business," Malfoy snapped. "I don’t want someone to kill my partner. I . . . Do you realize how badly this would reflect on me? Someone would blame me for it, I\'m sure. And you do realize how dangerous this could be? Please tell me you\'re aware that this could be some psychopath. Or a criminal who wants to murder you. Or worse — it could be Hogan!"



Harry stared, stunned by Malfoy\'s words. Harry\'s death would reflect badly on him? On Malfoy? That actually hurt. Malfoy truly cared so little about whether Harry would live or die? Today, when Malfoy rushed to his rescue, Harry had thought that Malfoy cared at least a little.



With supreme effort Harry banished those thoughts that shouldn\'t have been such a shock in the first place, and concentrated on the thing that had been bugging him for a while.



"What do you have against Derek? What did he ever do to you?"



"He . . ." Malfoy searched for words for a few seconds. "Exists." He inhaled and closed his eyes for a moment as though trying to calm himself. "Please just tell me you\'re not going."



"Of course I\'m going," Harry said promptly, pleased when Malfoy looked even angrier. "And honestly? I hope it is Derek."



Two patches of red appeared on Malfoy\'s cheeks as he glared at Harry. "I realize your choice is limited, Potter, but do you really have to jump into bed with the first gay man that sends you chocolate? Are you really that desperate? Disgusting."



Harry\'s vision blurred as he shot out of his chair, his hands shaking. Malfoy had hit a nerve, Harry was aware of that. Because Harry was desperate, he desperately wanted what he couldn\'t have. He was a desperate idiot, yearning for a man who detested him.



Slowly, he managed to calm himself enough to say almost smoothly, "Yes, I\'m desperate for some good ol\' gay sex. And whoever appears on this date, I\'ll take them home, smear jam over his body, and then I\'ll lick it off before I fuck him into the mattress." Seething, Harry placed his hands on the desk and leaned in much too close to the gaping Malfoy. "Anything else you\'d like to know about my love life? Want me to draw you pictures?"



Malfoy didn’t say a word. He seemed shocked, possibly imagining those gay related things that were so abhorrent to him.



Straightening, Harry grabbed his cloak and turned to leave.



"If I get murdered, I\'ll die happy knowing that would reflect badly on you," he said over his shoulder and stormed out.



Later, when he had reached his apartment, he felt vaguely proud of his manliness because somehow he had managed not to cry. It took him a while to realize why had Malfoy\'s hurtful words upset him more than usual this evening, and when he admitted the reason to himself he felt even worse. He hated to face it, but he had been hoping — against all reason, despite common sense — that Malfoy was his secret admirer. Harry thought he\'d never forgive himself for even daring to hope.



An owl was waiting for him on the windowsill, a note lying next to it. Reluctantly, Harry walked over and picked up the note. The familiar handwriting of his secret admirer made Harry even more depressed. It contained an invitation to a dinner tomorrow night, and this time, it was signed with a letter D.



So it was Derek. Harry had suspected it but hoped for someone more . . . blond. And exciting. He laughed without humor as he remembered Malfoy saying that this could be a psychopath or a criminal or worse — Derek. Well, what was wrong with Derek? Derek liked him and he was a . . . happy sort of person. And he was accessible. Why grasp at something unattainable when he knew it would never move within his reach?



Sighing, Harry Summoned a quill and scribbled:



I\'ll be there.

Harry

---

oOo

---

Saturdays were even more wretched than Fridays, Harry decided. Especially when you had a date you didn\'t really want to attend, and you finally made peace with the fact that the object of your affections not only didn\'t want you, but downright hated your guts.



So it was no surprise to Harry when he woke up at eight in the morning, utterly depressed, and consequently, stayed in bed until noon. He made the decision not to go anywhere this evening only to retract it a few minutes later. Then he repeated this process for four hours. He tried to think of a reason to go to this blind date, preferably a reason that didn\'t make him look pathetic. But if he was to be honest with himself, the only appeal of this date was the knowledge that Malfoy would be upset if Harry went, and it was important to upset Malfoy because Malfoy had upset Harry. Which of course meant Harry was acting childish, something he was well aware of, and something that just couldn’t continue. He was getting tired of this. Every day was the same and nothing ever changed in his relationship with Malfoy. And Harry was certain that nothing ever would. Harry was wasting time. Malfoy would never be his friend and he would definitely never be his lover, and the obvious truth was that the two of them would never be able to work so closely together without holding each other back. Harry was deliberately sabotaging Malfoy\'s career and Malfoy was inadvertently sabotaging Harry\'s chance of ever finding someone to share his life with.



This meant Harry had two options. He could either quit his job — the job that he loved — and hope he would eventually find something else he was good at. Possibly, he could become a trashy romance novelist, as he had demonstrated the talent for fantasizing about impossible romantic situations. Or, he could ask for a different partner. Malfoy would still be there and Harry would still see him, but he would nonetheless be far enough to let Harry breathe normally. He already thought of a speech in his head, and knew exactly what he would say to his Head of Department. Harry hated to think like this but it was time for desperate measures. He would threaten and declare he couldn\'t possibly work with Malfoy, so she could either assign him a different partner or he would leave. Harry was pretty sure the Ministry wouldn\'t let him leave, though he knew they\'d laugh and say they had told him that letting Malfoy work for the Ministry was a bad idea. They\'d assume that Malfoy was being insufferable and his ineptitude was the real reason Harry was ready to quit his job. And despite the fact that his sympathies towards Malfoy were currently limited, this still made Harry mad. He didn\'t want to make things even more difficult for Malfoy. Not because of his stupid crush.



But it had to be done. Harry had messed with Malfoy\'s life more than it was healthy. Malfoy\'s future successes and failures, as well as his relationships with other people weren’t Harry\'s business. Just as Harry\'s life wasn\'t Malfoy\'s business. Which, technically meant that Harry was being stupid if he planned to go to this date just to spite Malfoy. This wouldn\'t affect Malfoy in any way. Especially since Harry didn\'t plan to die on this date. He had thought of three possible scenarios, depending on who would appear on this date, and two of them were promising. One, it was some maniac out to get him, and in that case, Harry would happily and eagerly detain him. He had been missing action as much as Malfoy had. He was starting to feel useless, rescuing jarveys and attacking television sets; some good old maniac-arresting would be refreshing. Two, it was some normal bloke who could provide a different sort of action Harry had been missing as well. In this case, Harry had decided that unless the man smelled really bad, he\'d go home with him and have sex. And three, the most likely option, it was Derek Hogan. He couldn’t arrest Derek since he wasn\'t a maniac, and he couldn\'t go home with him to have sex since he was a friend. If it was Derek, then Harry had to decide in advance whether he wanted something more with this man or not.



And his first thought was not. Derek was nice, but Harry had never considered him as a possible lover. Admittedly, he had never paid much attention to Derek, though he liked his company. Because Derek talked a lot and being with Derek meant Harry\'s mind could wander towards more pleasant topics, and as long as he nodded, said Mmm occasionally, and smiled widely enough, Derek was pleased. Which was actually horrible of Harry, now that he thought about it. Perhaps he owed Derek a chance. Perhaps, tonight, he would try to pay attention to this man who was supposedly in love with him. It was a pleasant thought — that someone was in love with him. It might feel nice to bask a little in this love; it might soothe this gut wrenching pain caused by Malfoy\'s continuous rejections. Maybe this could work out.



He was going, Harry resolved for the final time around one in the afternoon while he was nibbling on something he hoped was real food. He would go and he would give Derek a chance and spend the entire evening not thinking about Malfoy. He should learn not to do that anyway. Not at work, not at dates, and not at home.



Oddly enough, once Harry had made a firm decision to go, the next few hours flew by. He was wandering around the apartment, pretending he was cleaning, but actually just trying to not think of Malfoy, and the next time he checked his watch it was already six o\'clock. Which was bad since he was meeting his secret admirer at seven.



More or less calmly, he showered and put on the first items of clothing that came under his hand. He had no idea if they were going somewhere fancy or not, or if they were going to a Wizarding or a Muggle restaurant. The address on that note looked unfamiliar.



But soon enough, Harry found out that they were meeting in a Muggle restaurant, one that was probably a little too fancy for Harry\'s plain jeans and shirt.



He had Apparated to the nearest safe location he knew and then walked to the restaurant, arriving about fifteen minutes early. He considered lurking in the shadows and wait for his date to appear so he could see him before the man realised Harry had showed up, but it was cold outside, and Harry didn\'t feel like skulking, so he sighed and went inside, hoping for the best.



He told the hostess his name and she led him towards an isolated table, romantically decorated with candles and a dozen long stemmed roses. The hostess had told him that the table was reserved on his name, disappointing Harry who had hoped that he would at least know the man\'s name before he arrived. Nervous, he sat down, facing the entrance so he could see his date the moment he appeared, and ordered a glass of red wine.



His mysterious admirer was late, and that reminded Harry that Derek was usually late for everything. Troubled and a little unhappy, he stared at the main door, holding his breath every time a man entered, and then exhaling slowly when he saw that he wasn\'t carrying a single red rose as the author of those letters promised he would.



After some forty minutes, his nerves on edge, he was almost ready to leave, willing to believe that this was some sort of sign and that a higher power was trying to tell him this was a bad idea, but the door opened again and Harry inhaled and waited to get a good look of the person who entered.



It was probably a good thing he was sitting down, and a bad thing he had drunk his wine, because Harry\'s vision blurred and he felt faint for a moment, unable to believe his eyes. The man who entered definitely wasn\'t Derek Hogan, and Harry had to blink several times to convince himself he wasn\'t seeing things. But every time he opened his eyes again, the vision remained the same, and Harry had no choice but to truly believe that Draco Malfoy was here, heading towards Harry\'s table.



And just as Harry clenched his fists, thinking Malfoy had only come here so he could cause trouble, his gaze reluctantly moved from Malfoy\'s expressionless face and fell on his hands.



And in his hands, Malfoy held a single red rose.

---

oOo

---

It wasn\'t like Draco had made a conscious decision to hide here in the shadows and lurk. But he knew the address and he knew the time, and when the clock\'s hand moved closer to seven, Draco simply found himself here. If someone ever asked him to explain what he was doing here, Draco would claim this was a case of a spontaneous Apparition. He didn’t even know what he was trying to achieve. Was he really here just so he could sulk while Potter had fun with his date?



Draco frowned. No, he did know why he was here. He was here to protect his unwitting partner.



A secret admirer! Draco scoffed just as he scoffed at least once every five minutes. How could anyone be so ridiculous to go and meet a complete stranger just because he was sending him gifts? Which of course only proved that this stranger was an irresponsible sort of person, spending all that money on those expensive presents. And it proved he had a higher agenda and expected some sort of payment in return. Draco knew how this worked. Why, this was the same thing his father had told Draco to do in order to lure women. This was one of father\'s tamer lessons on women, which left Draco only slightly traumatized. You must send them expensive and tasteful gifts, his father had said, to impress them as well as to create a sense of obligation on their part. They will feel the desire to reciprocate your kindness in a way more accessible to them.





Draco grimaced, disgusted. Why he should aim to be with someone because he had managed to create a sense of obligation in them his father had never explained. On the contrary, he had given Draco an odd look when Draco had posed this question, and walked away mumbling to himself about disappointments. Though at the time, Draco was twelve, so he could be misremembering things.



But he remembered how improper wooing looked like. And this was wooing and it was improper. And completely mental because of course the wooer was Derek Hogan and everything he did was insane by default. And it proved Draco\'s theory that in addition to being insane, Hogan wasn\'t very clever. Did Hogan fail to realise that Potter was paying attention to him, at least, much more attention than he paid Draco? And that meant Hogan didn\'t have to fight for it and, in the process, waste precious time he could spend with Potter. Why hadn’t he simply approached Potter and asked him out? Potter wouldn\'t stand up Hogan like he stood up Draco. Not that Draco asked Potter out on a date, but that wasn\'t the point. The point was that some people had everything and they didn\'t realise it. And Hogan was one of those people, someone who had Potter\'s attention and could get a good look of Potter\'s dimples whenever he wished, and who only had to wave to make Potter enter the diner and stay.



Clearly, Hogan resorted to this just because he wanted to show off. Stupid bastard. Just so he could flaunt how much money he had and show everyone what wonderful things he could buy Harry. That is, Potter. As though this made him better suited for Potter, as though this made him better than poor blokes who had to watch every little Knut they earned and invest carefully to make sure they could keep their ancestral home, the last remnant of their dignity and the reminder of their former status. Honestly, as if Potter cared about these sort of things. Though Draco was no longer sure about this. He didn\'t think that Potter cared about expensive presents, but then again, Potter was here. Though apparently, Potter just wanted a good shag. And jam.



Which was fine with Draco. He had no plans to stop this. He just wanted to make sure that Potter wasn\'t in trouble. Idiot though he was, he was still Draco\'s favourite idiot. And since last night, Draco had suffered several anxiety attacks. Initially, he had believed that Potter and Hogan were an item and that Hogan was sending him gifts like a good little suck up. However, seeing that awful letter signed with the words Secret Admirer gave Draco instant nightmares. He was still almost positive that this was Hogan, but there was always a chance Potter was meeting a random maniac. Draco just wanted to talk to this man, maybe point his wand at him and threaten until the little bastard wets his pants and realises that if he tried to hurt Potter Draco would do much worse things to him than simply arrest him. And if, as a result of this threat, the man ran away screaming, that wouldn\'t be Draco\'s fault.



That went for Hogan too. Draco had a special speech ready for Hogan. He would tell him that if he ever noticed he was making Harry — Potter, damn it! — unhappy he would have to answer to Draco. And Draco had learned how to charm teapots to bite balls. Bless Mrs Herbert for the idea.



And that was all Draco planned to do — talk and threaten a little, nothing else.



He had stuck to this plan firmly, right until Hogan appeared. The crazy sod had an enormous smile plastered on his face and he was practically bouncing, clearly ecstatic about his upcoming date. His smile didn\'t waver after he spotted Draco, exhibiting yet another proof of his mental instability.



Hogan nodded and said cheerfully, "Hey, Draco!"



That was all it took. Draco had raised his wand and yelled Obliviate before he even decided to do it.



Hogan\'s face went blank and he stared ahead, blinking uncomprehendingly. Draco didn\'t feel the slightest bit guilty. Not even after he grabbed Hogan\'s shoulders, shook him much too hard, and asked, "You know where you are?"



Hogan shook his head, confused.



"You know where you\'re going?" Draco asked, smiling a little. He wasn\'t very good at Memory Charms, but apparently it had worked.



Hogan looked up and down and left and right, and he stared at the restaurant for a long moment, making Draco twitchy, but then he shook his head again. "No. I was going . . . somewhere. Do you know where, sir?"



Draco grinned. "Oh yes." He nodded emphatically and pointed across the street. "You were going in that direction. And you were going to find one of those iron covers on the street. And then you planned to lift it up with your wand and jump inside."



Hogan frowned. "I was? What ever for?"



"I have no idea, but it seemed urgent business. Something work related perhaps?"



"Work!" Hogan exclaimed, swaying slightly. "I love my work."



"Well, hurry then. This is important. You must do a good job."



"Yes, yes. An iron cover. I have to jump." Hogan nodded, turning around and nearly falling, but he straightened and stumbled away in the direction Draco had indicated. An elder lady across the street gave him a nasty look, probably thinking he was drunk.



Draco smiled widely, but then looked around and hid his wand. Inside the restaurant, a Muggle waitress stopped waiting on tables to watch him. Draco quickly ducked back into the shadows.



It was truly odd, Draco thought, that somehow he had ended up holding a red rose in his hand. He didn\'t remember snatching it from Hogan\'s grip, but here it was.



Draco stared at it for a long moment, possibly minutes. He remembered what the letter said, Potter\'s date would carry this rose so Potter could recognise him. But this was irrelevant to Draco; he should leave now. He really should. He saved Potter from a maniac, and that was all he wanted to do tonight.



Or. He could enter and . . . pretend. Because he was . . . curious.



What would Potter say? What would he do if he saw Draco walking inside with the rose? Would he believe Draco was his secret admirer? Would he be horrified? He probably would be horrified and shocked. He might actually run. Or maybe he would try to hex Draco.



Or maybe he would be nice.



Although Potter certainly wasn\'t interested in Draco in that way — nor was Draco interested in Potter in that way — maybe this would soften that rock Potter called heart. Maybe he would be less of a bastard to Draco. Maybe he would feel a sense of obligation to be nice to Draco since he had bought him all those presents. Maybe Draco\'s father had a point. Sure, it would be embarrassing to let Potter believe Draco was in love with him, but being Potter\'s friend was important. Work-wise, if nothing else. Potter was an important man, and the Malfoys had always been good friends with important wizards and witches. Going inside and convincing Potter he cared about him was practically essential to Draco\'s career. So this was a completely sensible thing to do.



Draco looked at the door and then at the rose again.



It might work. He just wanted Potter to stop being so cold towards him. Potter couldn\'t possibly hate him more.



Resolved, Draco took a deep breath, stepped out of the shadows, and walked inside the restaurant.



It took him two seconds to spot Potter and see those green eyes widen in absolute shock. Draco caught a glimpse of anger in Potter\'s eyes before they looked down at the rose Draco was holding in his hands.



It occurred to Draco then that maybe Potter could hate him more.



But Potter looked up again, and this time his lips parted and something indefinable appeared in his eyes. Draco didn\'t understand Potter\'s expression, but suddenly he had to remind himself that he was only here to try to gain Potter\'s friendship.



Potter\'s promise to shag whoever appeared on this date had nothing to do with it.

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TBC

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