Tempus Fugit

HOMG Graballz!! *still laughing over the review* DANKE!!
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"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!!" Draco Malfoy fled the scene of the bathroom like the hounds of hell were after him. He'd retreated to the bathroom for a bit of peace and quiet, and lost track of the time. Of course, he had no way of knowing that of all people, Potter would show up and be sexy! "SHIT!" He swore, trying to rid himself of the image of Potter's wet naked form and the expression on his face as he tossed himself off.

Finally deciding that it was an excercise in futility to try to get rid of the images which seemed firmly lodged in his brain, Draco allowed them to run their course. It started when Potter waltzed into the supposedly private bathroom, and began stripping. He'd obviously not seen Draco in the corner, something that Draco had checked out immediately upon entering - Stupid Gryffindor. Going to get himself killed one day - and then stood under the shower. He must not have been expecting anyone to be there, because he didn't even bother with the shower curtain! When he closed his eyes and leaned his face up into the hot spray, the expression on his face was so open that Draco was stunned, and couldn't even think to take the opportunity to leave. He stayed rooted to the stool he was sitting on, staring like a first year with a crush. Harry's body was toned and tanned - No tan lines. Is it natural? Draco couldn't bear the thought of him tanning naked somewhere on school property. The water slid in rivers off the smooth skin, and Draco's fingers itched to follow them, to see just how soft that inviting stomach was, to touch that perfectly shaped bum and stroke him off just the way he was doing now...

Draco's eyes snapped open wide as he stared at Potter getting himself off in the shower. He felt his own erection stirring in his trousers, and shifted silently, trying to ease the pressure, all the while hating himself for allowing Potter to affect him in ways like that.

Preferring men was no surprise to him; he and his family had known since first year when Draco had come from meeting a tiny Harry Potter, and informed his father happily that he'd met the man of his dreams. Lucius had said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow, and it wasn't until later that Draco realized that the 'secret' he'd worked through second and third year to hide wasn't a secret at all. Over the summer between third and fourth year, he'd come out officially to his father, who'd been surprisingly supportive.

"Draco, I will not lie to you," Lucius said seriously. "You must marry a woman, and have an heir with her. If you do not have a male heir the first time, you will keep trying until you have a boy to carry on the Malfoy name. What you do aside from getting an heir is your own business, and I will not stop you from it."

He'd worked out a marriage contract with Daphne Greengrass, much to Pansy's horror, to be implemented when they got out of Hogwarts. She fancied girls, he fancied boys, and the two of them needed the marriage simply for appearances. He'd rejected Pansy who actually wanted him, and wouldn't have let him do what he wanted in regards to his preferences. Daphne didn't even mind if he brought his boys home, so long as he didn't mind the girls she might occasionally have over. "Just not in the bed I sleep in," Draco had warned. "Whether that's next to you or on my own, keep it out of my bed."

Given his history, he wasn't terribly surprised that he'd been turned on by Potter, who had an admittedly nice form. It was the fact that it was Potter who had his slacks bulging over his erection. The whiny brat who escaped death with a startling regularity, no matter who tried. Lucius had failed, Voldemort had failed, Moody had failed, Draco himself had failed. He'd once entertained the guess that Potter was immortal, just as the Dark Lord was, that when Voldemort transferred some of his powers to the baby Harry, he'd transferred some of his immortality, as well. Lucius had scoffed at the notion, and Draco discarded it, but the fact remained that Potter was damnably hard to kill.

And he was beautiful when he came. Draco was pulled back to the present abruptly when Harry's body jerked a few times, and come leaked out to the floor, washed away by the shower water. Potter stroked himself a few more times, still enjoying the afterglow of an orgasm, and then turned the water off. Draco was almost relieved that Potter would be leaving soon, that Draco could take the chance to relieve his own 'problem'. Instead, the git walked gracefully - when was Potter graceful? He usually blundered all over the place like .. like... like an erumpent. A drunk erumpent. When he sank into the scented water of the tub, Draco lost it. He scurried out of his corner, keeping to the wall and watching Potter to make sure he wasn't looking. He should have kept his eyes on his feet, however, as he stumbled over the towels folded neatly near the door. Swearing to himself, he stepped back into darkness as Potter heard the soft swishing of towels being forcefully unfolded and whipped his head around, wand in hand. Draco froze, barely breathing, and watched Potter scanning the room. He didn't have his glasses on; they were near the clothes by the door. Finally, he relaxed, and set his wand down, settling back into the water. Draco fled the bathroom, remembering to shut the door quietly behind him, and all but ran down the corridor.

Which was how he found himself slamming into strangers as if he were no better than Potter. Actually, considering who he'd run into, Potter would have been preferable.

James Potter glowered down at him, and Draco realized that he was still a fourth year in appearance - and size. Potter senior all but towered over him from the floor, and dwarfed him when Draco was pulled to his feet and slammed into the wall. "You've got some nerve coming around here," he hissed dangerously. "I still haven't forgiven you for trying to kill Harry, and if I ever see you again I won't hesitate to beat the shit out of you. Ask your little friend Snivellus just how nasty we Marauders can get when one of our own is threatened." James released him, and Draco found himself cowering, afraid that he'd actually get beaten. "Get out of here!" James snarled, and Draco ran, this time for his life. The good news was his erection had faded under the overwhelming fear that Potter was going to kill him.

That would be just my luck. Killed before I'm born by the father of my rival. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that the Potters were pure-bloods. Although the line was ending with a half-blood, this Potter was still pure. Undiluted magic, passed down for generations, culminating finally in James Potter. Who would then go on and squander it by falling in love with a mudblood.

Though now that he was thinking about it, there was something to be said for mudbloods. Granger, though he'd never admit it out loud, and kill himself if anyone ever got wind of it, was a decent witch, despite her parents. She made up for her lack of historical magic by studying, and knew things that most people had forgotten or discounted as unimportant years ago. As a member of Potter's crew, she was an invaluable asset. Weasley, however, was better off dead, or making more Weasley's somewhere very far from Draco. He'd watched as year after year the two of them fought, becoming worse than Draco or Potter ever had, and finally making up when, tadaa, Weasley was proven wrong once and for all... at least until the next year. Draco hated him passionately, and hated that he'd been passed over for someone like that. If Potter had accepted his hand of friendship, he would have cultivated it, nurtured it, until Potter depended on him, and he wouldn't have let him down, because he, Draco Malfoy, was a good friend, even if he was a nasty git to other people.

He finally made it into the Slytherin common room, and trudged up to Snape's room. He passed Regulus, who's door was open, and paused to watch him for a moment. He was engrossed in something on his paper, and for a moment Draco thought he was writing in a journal. The motions were too fluid to be writing, however, and Draco's curiousity got the better of him. "What are you doing?"

Regulus jerked, surprised, and looked up. "Hello, Draco," he said. "I'm drawing." He turned the paper for Draco to see, and he was stunned when Regulus revealed a stunningly accurate depiction of Potter, the way he'd looked when Draco cast the killing curse at him. Black and Potter senior were in the picture, as well, and Draco saw them reacting to the spell; Black with his wand drawn, Potter throwing himself at a stunned Harry, who simply stood there, like he couldn't believe that it was happening to him.

"Wow," Draco breathed, and Regulus flushed. "That's amazing. You did that by memory?"

"Yes. I often draw. It passes the time, and helps when I can't sleep." Regulus offered, and lifted his sketchbook for Draco to look through if he wanted. Draco thought about it for less than a second before he was entering the room, and scanning the pages.

"These are amazing," Draco said, completely flabbergasted. Regulus gave him a shy smile, and Draco was reminded of seeing him kiss Potter earlier. It had made him seethingly jealous at the time, but now he had something over the youngest Black; he'd seen Potter naked. He stopped himself before he got too much farther with that thought. He was meant to hate Potter, not make rivals with someone in his own house over the boy. If Regulus wanted him, he could have him!

"I've got to go, though," Draco said, handing the book back and retreating from the room. He pulled the door closed behind him, and leaned against it. These thoughts needed to stop. They'd started earlier that night when Regulus had kissed Potter, and now had gathered so much speed that they flashed through his mind long enough for him to see, and then darted back out again. It wasn't very pretty, from where he was standing. He wanted to HATE Potter, not lust after him!

*

Harry finished his bath in relative peace, and dressed in the pajama pants he'd brought. Smirking, he wandered out into the halls, and dropped his clothes off in a niche near Gryffindor Tower. He looked out the window, and saw Padfoot and Prongs sneaking into the Forbidden Forest, still in human form. As quickly as he could, he snuck out of the castle, and transformed. It wasn't a moment too soon, either, because Filch rounded the corner, Mrs Norris looking particularly less mangy treading ahead of him. She sniffed at Harry's animagus form suspiciously, but Filch, obviously on business, pressed her forward. Harry gave a cat-like smirk and slid out from the shadows behind them, then broke into a run, tracking Padfoot and Prongs by the scent of their human forms until they changed. They were playing a game of what looked like leapfrog when Harry arrived, Pads jumping over Prongs and then Prongs leaping over Padfoot. Harry crouched, and jumped, leaping over both of them and scaring them both half to death. He crouched again, watching them watching him, and gave another cat-like smirk.

He changed back to human form, and the two older-looking students followed. "JEEZUS! You scared the SHIT out of me! I thought you said you were a cat!" Sirius said, clutching his chest.

"I did," Harry said, amusement colouring his tone. " A big one." His animagus form was a lithe, sleek black panther, with startling green eyes. He grinned at them, as they digested this, and then changed back and rubbed up against them, purring. The sound was so big it rattled them both to their bones before they changed, too, and the three of them took off running. Harry ran out of breath shortly before Padfoot did, but James bounced around sprightly, prodding them occasionally with his antlers. Harry swatted at him lazily, claws retracted. Prongs responded with a harder jab, and before they knew it, they were running through the forest again. Harry jumped into the trees, and leapt from limb to limb, keeping up much faster than he could on the ground. He overtook them quickly, again startling them when he dropped out of the trees in front of them. After a few hours of playing, the three of them returned to the castle, and snuck back in.

"That was fun," Harry said breathlessly. "Hermione would never let me just frolick like that for no reason. We learned it for the war, and don't want our forms becoming popular. It's a little scarier when a ghostly black cat shows up out of nowhere, rather than haunts a certain place for a while."

Sirius grinned at him. "How about being mistaken for a grim? I've sent women into hysterics in Hogsmeade before."

Harry shivered slightly, having gone out in only his pajamas. "I bet the stories raged for days," he said, and James surprised him by dropping his shirt over Harry's shoulders. He was wearing a muscle shirt under it, but the shirt was hot from being next to his body. Harry smiled at him and pulled it closer, absorbing the warmth. "Thank you," he said, and James grinned.

"If you get sick, you won't be able to read that massive book Remus found for you." Harry rolled his eyes, and Sirius gave the password to the portrait. Murphy smarted off to them about the lateness of the hour, but the three boys ignored him.

*

Harry awoke once again to hands on him, this time more insistent and purposeful. He gasped loudly, arching his back. He was rewarded with a chuckle from behind him, and twisted in the arms holding him down.

"Shh, Viri. Relax. Enjoy it." Questing fingers rubbed his stomach gently, and somehow made the feelings more pronounced. Harry wiggled backwards against James' hips, feeling an answering erection at his back. James made a quiet sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a moan, pressing back. The feeling of an erection so close to his backside made him nervous, but Harry refused to pull away and show his fear. Besides, if he was going to admit that he actually preferred boys, he was going to have to get over his shyness of all things sexual, because one day, a future boyfriend was going to want more than snogging and groping. Besides, once he got used to the sensation of something back there it wasn't so bad any more, just a little disconcerting. The sheets under him were warm from their combined body heat - Hermione always did call him a furnace, said he radiated heat like a space heater - and soft. The sensation of the gentle threads against his bare skin combined with the hands on his body and the hardness at his back were just too much stimulation so early in the morning, and he jerked, shuddering against James' hands. Rolling over so that they faced one another, he pressed his hips into James' again, making friction against the other's erection. It wasn't long before he too was coming, and a quick spell cleaned them both up. It was less awkward this morning, and Harry stood stretching in the morning sunlight.

"We've got classes soon," James said. "You'll want to see Dumbledore and see if you're to take class while you're here, and you can work out a schedule if you are." Harry made a face, but nodded, and dressed himself in the borrowed clothes.

"Man... I was hoping I'd never have to go to class again. I was expecting not to. Oh well, it'll be useful to go back with some level seven knowledge."

"You're not finishing school?" James asked, surprised. Harry shook his head.

"None of us are. Hogwarts is closing soon, and we made the decision to drop out and search for ways to destroy Voldemort." James looked slightly disappointed. "Hey, look on the bright side, at least I'll get some schooling in while I'm here, right?" Harry wondered briefly what would happen to him if he never found a way back. Would he cease to exist when he was born? Would he have a chance to save the Potters from Voldemort before he went, and change his future irrevocably?

"Hey, come back!" James said, and Harry snapped back to himself with a shudder.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just thinking." Harry nodded to him, dodged past Sirius' closed off bed - Remus' was empty again - and went downstairs, slipping through the common room unseen, and headed to breakfast before he went to talk to Dumbledore.

The hall was emptying out, and he didn't see anyone he recognised when he went in to eat, something he was rather grateful for. While he finished his toast, Harry realized how strange it was to be in a sort of relationship with his future-father. And there was something starting between him and his godfather's brother. Harry hung his head in his hands, and sighed.

"Ah, Hermione... I wish you were here with me. You'd be able to figure this out. You could figure out anything." The words were quiet, almost an exhalation, and he was surprised when someone answered his thoughts.

"You miss your friend?" Harry looked up into the eyes of a very beautiful lady, dressed in a fashionable gown and looking sad. She was transparent, and Harry realized she was a ghost.

"I miss her very much," Harry said, and the lady sat next to him. "My name's Harry," he introduced himself. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"My name is Reina," she offered, and he inclined his head.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Like wise, Harry." She paused a moment. "You remember me, do you not?" Her voice flowed like water, smooth and cool. She spoke with a slowness that conveyed thought, like she arranged everything in her head before speaking. "I remember you, though I am sure I have never seen you before."

"You might be thinking of my dad," Harry said without thinking. Without missing a beat, the ghost shook her head.

"Not James. I know him. You... are as if from a dream or a memory of a dream. Half remembered, and half forgotten, lost in your way."

"I am lost. I'm not from this time. I'm from the future. An accident of magic sent my... friend... and I back to this time."

"He is not your friend. Rumour already has spread of Dumbledore's rescue of you in the hallway from the blond stranger amongst the ghosts."

"What's it like being dead?" Harry asked suddenly, aware of his own mortality. "I'm sorry," he said just as suddenly. "That was terribly rude of me."

"Not at all, young Harry," she said, shaking her head again. "I do not take offense. I am glad to be a ghost. My compatriots have long since moved on, and yet here I stay, to watch over my beloved school in their stead.

"I watch the seasons pass by in the blink of an eye, students arrive, are grown, and gone before I have a chance to know them. Time is an illusion for me. I exist, I see, I think, but I do not age or live or grow. There are great things in your future, Harry Potter."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "But I'm not expecting to live much longer, really. I think Voldemort will kill me. I can only hope to take him down with me before I go. I don't fear death," he added. She smiled her non-smile again.

"There is nothing to fear. Dumbledore is a very wise man, to realize that death is simply the next great adventure."

"To the well-organized mind, he told me. I'm anything but well-organized." Harry looked slightly embarrassed. "But... I fear leaving behind the people I love. I'm afraid that I'll die before I can free my world of the oppression Voldemort has brought. Is bringing, even now, while I sit here in the past doing nothing! I have no way of contacting them. I don't know if any of my friends are even still alive." Harry was surprised to find these thoughts tumbling out of him, things he hadn't even thought of until that moment, but had been niggling at him just under the surface.

"You would do well to speak to Dumbledore. I'm sure that there will be some way to communicate with your friends. I am happy to have spoken with you, Harry Potter," she said, and drifted away. After she had fully gone, Harry mused on her words. He was surprised to find himself thinking that she was one of the founders herself, Rowena. Reina, she'd called herself, and mentioned her compatriots, and her 'beloved school.' It made sense, and he resolved to ask her when he saw her again.

Feeling better for his talk with the dead woman, he rose and went in search of Dumbledore's office. When he arrived, he realized he didn't know the password. "Er... lemon drops?" He suggested, but the gargoyle didn't blink.

"Treacle Tarts. Butterbeer. Lemon sherbet?" Nothing worked, and he was readying his patronus charm when the gargoyle leapt aside of it's own accord, and Dumbledore beckoned him up.

"The password my boy is Pottery at the moment, but I shall have to remember 'lemon drops' for the future." He winked, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Harry flushed, and followed the old wizard up into the familiar office.

"I'd like to speak to you, Professor," Harry said without preamble. "I'd like to sit in on some seventh year classes while I'm here, and I want to know if you know of a way I could get in touch with my friends and let them know I'm alright back here."

"I assume that they will think the worst when both you and young mister Malfoy have disappeared. Did anyone see you running from him?" Dumbledore asked, seating himself behind the desk. Wordlessly, he offered Harry a candy, which was refused politely.

"I don't think so." Harry frowned suddenly, thinking back. "I actually don't remember much about what happened when I came here. Before I got here, I mean." He recalled telling the story to James and Sirius, but couldn't remember any of the details. It was somewhat frightening.

"Hmm. Troubling." Dumbledore frowned, and Harry could almost see the lightning fast brain at work. "Well, we will think more on this later, I assure you. For now, you are granted permission to take some classes. I advise Defense and Potions, for I'm sure you are already proficient with Transfigurations. Herbology could be useful, as you will be learning about poisonous plants, and their antidotes, and I could also suggest Ancient Runes."

Harry shook his head. "I never took Ancient Runes before. I'd be terrible at it." Dumbledore looked disappointed. "I'm not much of a scholastic," Harry said, feeling like he'd let the wizened old wizard down somehow by not taking Runes.

"Very well. Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Charms, then? Four classes should give you enough material for the things you need to do, without taking up your time unnecessarily, particularly if you're not planning on returning to school in your time."

"But I can't, I have to go after the horcr-"

"I understand the need to stay away, Harry," Dumbledore cut him off deftly. "I do not agree with you, however I do not know what kind of situation you come from. I am glad you came to me about classes. It shows responsibility, and maturity. I will think of a way you can contact your friends in the future. Tomorrow your classes will begin. Today, I would like you to go to Hogsmeade, to Gladrags Wizardwear, and get yourself some clothes, so you do not have to continually borrow Mr Longbottom's." Dumbledore eyed him amusedly. Harry flushed.

"I don't have any money," he said. "I mean, I do, back home, but here..."

"It's alright. Tell them that I sent you, and that the bill is to be sent back to me, and will be paid by the school."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Now, it's time for you to go, because I've asked another student to meet me here, so we can discuss his future, as it were. He should be arriving shortly, and you need to get to Hogsmeade. I trust you will be able to find your way there without any trouble?"

"I'll be fine," Harry said, smiling at him. He wandered back down the staircase, and the gargoyle moved aside for him. Malfoy was standing there, ready to knock on the wall beside the statue, when he was startled by it's movement, and Harry's sudden appearance. Harry tensed, awaiting a curse or a hex, or even a foul word, but Malfoy said nothing.

He sneered, and Harry scowled back, but the two boys stepped around one another, and went their own ways. Halfway down the hall, Harry realized that Dumbledore was expecting Malfoy, and that they were probably going to discuss the same things Harry had just talked to him about. He felt pleased that he'd gotten one up on Malfoy by approaching Dumbledore, rather than waiting to be approached, but realized they'd probably end up in the same classes again. Harry went up to Gryffindor tower, and realized that Murphy wasn't in his frame.

"Fuck!" he swore, and kicked the wall. He didn't know where the grumpy old painting might have gotten off to, and didn't feel like waiting around for him to get back. Moving down the hallway, another portrait stopped him. She was very pretty, and looked disturbingly like Reina.

"If you're looking for old man Murphy, he's visiting the Fat Lady, two floors down," she told him helpfully.

"Thank you," Harry said, and took the stairs. He found the Fat Lady's portrait easily, and was almost turned around and marched right back up the stairs when he realized that the Fat Lady and Murphy were cuddling in her frame.

Averting his eyes, he snapped, "Murphy! Get upstairs, you old geezer, and open the door for me!"

"About time some of these students started showing their mettle," Murphy said proudly, and gave the Fat Lady a squeeze before disappearing from the frame. Harry apologized to her for interrupting them, and followed him back up to the common room door.

"Password?" Murphy asked, his voice a little more respectful.

"Green kneazles," Harry said, and the portrait swung open. "Thank you." He stepped inside, and wandered up to the dorm. Swiping a piece of spare parchment, and one of Remus' quills, Harry left a note on James' bed.

Hey. If you guys get back before I do, I'm in Hogsmeade on Dumbledore's orders. Stay out of trouble! I'll tell you what classes I'm going to when I get back. -- H

*

The tunnel into Honeydukes was just as long as he remembered it, and it wasn't until he was nearly all the way to the sweets shop when he realized that he'd be coming in from the stock room, and that it was likely to be full of people.

Deciding spur of the moment that it would be better to ask forgiveness than permission, he kept going.

The proprietor was startled when he popped out of the floor, but had experience with the Marauders, and mistook him for James at first.

"Jim, that you?" He asked, and Harry shook his head.

"Nah. We're related, though. I'm sorry about this, I need to get to Gladrags Wizardwear, and this was the fastest way I could think of. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No disturbance at all. Glad for the company, though. Since you're here, you could make yourself useful and take that crate up with you? There's a good lad." Harry picked up the assigned crate of chocolates, and hauled it up the back stairs, setting it behind the counter before wandering out into the street.

There was a definite time-change; clothing styles were more atrocious than ever, and the posters and display signs everywhere protested the War, though Harry wasn't entirely sure if they were talking about Voldemort or not, and didn't want to ask. He walked away from Hogsmeade station, towards Zonko's, remembering that that was where Gladrags was in his time, and hoped that it hadn't moved since then. It was a nice sunny day, with a warm breeze, but he still didn't want to be wandering all over the town like an idiot. Thankfully, he found the clothing shop right where he expected it to be, and wandered in.

He almost walked right back out again when he saw what sort of styles were on display, but forced himself onward, hoping that maybe he'd find something decent in the lot of it. He didn't have robes, but he assumed he'd be forgiven not having them considering his extenuating circumstances.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said, introducing himself to the witch at the counter. She was a pretty red-head, and Harry found himself smiling at her. It was also nice to not have anyone throwing themselves at him like he'd stepped down out of heaven. "I'm here from Hogwarts. Dumbledore told me to come get clothes, since I've none of my own, and that the bill was to be sent to him."

"Ayight," she said, snapping a bubble in her gum. "Dum'led're's good f'r 'is word, 'e is. Yer fine. Take whot ya need." She mumbled slightly, and Harry had a little bit of difficulty understanding exactly what she'd said, but when she waved him off in the direction of an even cuter blond man waiting with a tape measure, he figured he was in the clear.

"Harry Potter, eh?" He asked when Harry got within range. "My name's Drakon Chrysos. I come from Greece, originally, but I came here when my parents disowned me for being gay." He spoke with a curious accent that Harry couldn't place until he said where he was from. "My name means Golden Dragon, and most people assume for my hair. Really, it's my golden heart." He winked, and Harry stared at him, completely off-balance by the easy-going nature of his attendant. "You're gay, aren't you? I can spot them a mile away, really. You're so young though. It's a terrible pity. Good looking blokes like you are such a rare commodity these days."

The girl at the counter ignored them, occasionally turning the page in the comic book she was reading and snapping her gum, but Harry was mortified that this complete stranger could see his preference as if it were written across his face. And he'd only known himself for less than twenty four hours!

"Oh, don't be embarrassed! Really, I'm too nosy for my own good. Come on, I'll take your measurements." The accompanying wiggle of his eyebrows with the word made it sound somewhat dirty. "How old are you, Harry? Do you mind if I call you Harry? You can call me Drake, everyone else around here does. You come from Hogwarts you say?"

"Oh, I'm seventeen. Yeah, Hogwarts." Drakon's eyes went wide and he blatantly let his eyes trail up and down Harry's body.

"Seventeen?" He asked, making a loose motion with his wrist. "Pish posh, I'll never believe it. You have an amazing body, Harry, do you work out?"

"Ah.. yeah. I'm seventeen, really. It was a missplaced spell that made me look like this. No, I don't work out. I mean, I play Quidditch, but that's hardly a work out for me."

"QUIDDITCH! I love Quidditch! Really, best sport ever, in my humble opinion." Drakon's habit of adding 'really' to every other sentence was oddly endearing, even as it set Harry's teeth on edge. The bell over the door jangled again, and Drakon and Harry turned as one to see who'd walked in.

Draco Malfoy looked bewildered at the styles displayed, and Harry laughed at him, drawing his attention. "Really, Potter, must we continually bump into one another in strange clothing stores?"

Not another 'really.' "I was here first, Malfoy," Harry replied stiffly, and Drakon all but squealed.

"Are you here from Hogwarts too? Oh today's my lucky day, really! My name's Drakon Chrysos. It means Golden Dragon in Greek. I'm from Greece, really, but I came here when my parents disowned me--"

Harry tuned him out, turning to flip through a leaflet of the most popular styles available. He wasn't so stupid as to ignore them completely, and listened to Malfoy's response to Drakon's obvious flirting.

"Why, I'm gay too! My parents didn't disown me, however. I think my father was expecting it. My name means Dragon of Bad Faith in Latin. How strange!" Harry nearly fell off his foot stool. If anyone, before that day, had told him that Draco Malfoy could simper and flirt like a love-struck girl, he'd've laughed in their face, and kept laughing until he couldn't breathe. Actually hearing the flattering, wheedling tone coming from Malfoy's voice, and seeing the completely out-of-place smile -- was that a wink?!

Completely flabbergasted, Harry gaped at the two of them, chattering away like old friends. Drakon came back over to Harry flapping his hands like he was trying to lift off into the air and fly away.

"Oh isn't this wonderful, Harry? Two delectable boys from Hogwarts and you're all mine for the rest of the afternoon. Oh, I see you've been making use of the book. Really, there's not a whole lot of good stuff in there. I know what looks good, I could make you outfits that would melt the dresses off anyone you know."

Harry looked around. "None of these, surely?" He asked, almost hopeful. If Drakon was going to try to clothe him in something gaudy and outdated he would walk out right then and there without collecting anything. Drakon sniffed disdainfully.

"Of course not! Really, how blond do you think I am? Cmere, Draco honey, you know about clothes, I can see from the look on your face. I want your opinion. I'm thinking a black peasant shirt like this," Malfoy inched closer at Drakon's beckoning, and peered at a picture he'd produced. "Trimmed with green, to bring out his eyes. Maybe loose at the sleeves, I don't know. Hmm, no, I think closer fitting sleeves would be - could you take your shirt off, Harry, there's a love!" Harry tried to ignore the stares the other three were giving him as he stripped off Graham's borrowed shirt, and settled it neatly on a rack nearby. He felt incredibly self conscious because Drakon was making that squeal-noise again and the red-head at the counter had lost her gum when her mouth fell open, and even Malfoy was staring at him like a starving dog-

Drakon dropped a cloud of fabric over his head, and began pinning madly. He wielded scissors deftly, trimming off excess fabric here and there while setting several needles to begin stitching while the cloth was still on Harry. The sleeve wasn't as huge as Harry'd been expecting, nor skin-tight, either, but fell loosely around his fingers in a comfortable tube. The top of the shirt had laces at the top, and a wide neck, but was soft and comfortable to wear.

"With a pair of tight pants and some boots - mwah - you'll be the sexiest boy this side of Paris! Really, Harry, where did you get such a nice tan?"

"Oh, well, I go tanning sometimes," Harry said nervously. He didn't like the way they were all oggling him. It went beyond creepy. "And a lot of it's just natural."

"Are you telling me you actually do lie around Hogwarts naked?" Malfoy asked, then immediately looked as though he'd rather he hadn't said anything at all.

"What?!" Harry all but shoutd. "No! Of course not! I go muggle tanning, in the booths." Both wizards looked at him as if he'd gone mad, and Harry grumbled about stuck-up purebloods.

"There, Harry, you have one shirt. I will of course need to make more, but now that I have the shape of your chest-" this was embellished by another lascivious eyebrow wiggle - "I can do it from memory. Now, trousers. Would you rather drop your pants out here, or in there?"

"GAH!" Harry exclaimed as Drakon began tugging on his slacks. "Behind the curtain you- you.."

"Cad?" Malfoy supplied. "Blackguard? Knave?"

"Shut it, Malfoy! You're not helping!" Harry was near to panicking. I'm amongst madmen and monkeys! he thought, suddenly wishing that he were going anywhere but behind a privacy curtain to get naked with a flamboyantly gay Greek man.

Malfoy was openly laughing at him, and Drakon was ushering him behind the curtain, and Harry had sudden horrible visions of being violated behind the curtains in Gladrags.

"Tight, tight pants," Drakon was muttering to himself looked pleased and eyeing Harry's arse. He patted him down quickly, not lingering anywhere and fast enough that it couldn't be considered a grope. "Aha! I know just the thing! Get those horrible slacks off, and we'll get you into something nice." Harry removed the slacks slowly, and was relieved when Drakon immediately pinned some strange material around his waist, and did the pin/cutting thing again. He worked so quickly that the pants were forming around Harry's legs before he'd even begun calming down after the brief horrid moment when he thought he was going to be felt up.

"Becca! You'll take care of Draco, won't you dear?" Drakon called out, and the girl snapped her gum again. "I think I'll have my hands full here for a while, really!"

Malfoy was going to say something snarky to that, and Hary was just waiting for it when Drakon whipped the cloth right off his body. Any comment Malfoy may have made was lost in the indignant shriek Harry made at suddenly finding himself nude. Drakon wrapped some more cloth around him, a different fabric this time in different colours, and more clothes began taking shape. He set the needles to sew with magic, simply setting the seams for them, and before long Harry had enough clothes to last him several weeks.

"Please allow me to choose your clothes. Believe me, you'll shock the pants right off anyone who sees you, really," Drakon begged once the needles were finishing up. Harry had several pairs of shoes, socks, pants, undershirts, over shirts, outer shirts, a jacket, trousers, slacks... He'd never had so many clothes in his life, and wasn't sure what he was going to do with it all. Surely he'd never have an opportunity to wear it all!?

"Um, alright," Harry said, wondering if he was signing his death-warrant by allowing the Greek to dress him. Immediately rifling through the clothes that were piling up in the corner, Drakon tossed two shirts at him, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots, informing him that that was what he was to wear. Harry dressed, and had to admit that it looked good on him. The shirt clung without being tight, and the undershirt kept it from being sheer. The pants were tight around his hips and thighs, and the boots went over the trousers - Harry suspected they were dragon-hide, as they were tough but flexible - giving him a sort of medieval peasant look that when combined with his messy hair and piercing eyes was... stunning.

"Wow," Harry breathed, looking at himself. Not all of the clothes were as ... theatrical as this, but Drakon was right about one thing; Harry would most certainly turn heads dressed like this. And considering the extremes of fashion he'd seen just since coming to Hogsmeade - with a tailor like Drakon it wasn't surprising - it was even likely that he wouldn't be laughed at. Harry slipped on a coat over the shirt, feeling a little less thirteenth century as he did so, and gathered the clothing up into the bag Drakon had provided. He stepped out of the privacy booth and into the main part of the shop, and saw a devilishly handsome boy dressed in loose slacks and a clingy shirt much like the one Harry was wearing. He let his eyes trail appreciatively over the other's body, finally coming to rest on a pair of amused, familiar grey eyes.

With a start, Harry realized he'd been checking out Malfoy. Who was checking him out in return.

"You clean up nicely, Potter," Malfoy said, sounding appreciative. Harry tried to keep the blush off his face, and failed if Malfoy's expression was any indication.

"Oh my GOD, we are GENIUSES, Becca!" Drakon said, circling Harry and plucking at the clothes every few breaths. "Perfect fit. I knew it would look good. Fantastic. Bloody smashing! Remember Gladrags for all your clothing needs, boys!" Drakon called as they exited the store. Malfoy turned in the direction of Hogwarts, and Harry followed behind him, heading towards Honeydukes.

"May I use your cellar again?" Harry asked when he went in. The proprietor gave him a speculative look.

"Certainly, young man." He finally answered, and Harry nodded at him gratefully, and descended the stairs and into the tunnel. He all but ran, hoping to get back to Hogwarts before Malfoy and share his day with James and Sirius before the blond had a chance to make fun of him, or otherwise ruin his day. Class was just letting out as he darted into the hallway, and he passed the entrance hall, and stopped, wondering if Malfoy was there yet.

There was no sign of him, and Harry lugged his packages back up to Gryffindor Tower, watching as more than half the girls he passed turned to follow his path with their eyes. He was used to attention, but this wasn't because he was Harry Potter, or because he was a parselmouth, or anything except the fact that he was an attractive bloke wearing flattering clothes. It was a nice feeling, being wanted for who he was, and not what everyone wanted him to be.

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I think this is my longest chapter yet! I kept writing because I noticed them getting shorter, and I didn't want that. Tell me what you think of Drakon! He might be important later (but he also might not XD) Thanks for reading so far!