Five thirty. At last. Sighing with relief, Harry shrugged his cloak over his shoulders, took one last look around his office, then left the room and closed the door on another working week.
His personal assistant, Lorna, a plump, attractive witch in her fifties, was tidying her desk, and smiled brightly at him as he paused to say goodnight. "Good to see you leaving on time for once, Harry," she chirped. "It's no wonder you look so tired and pasty; you need to get out and enjoy yourself more. You're an attractive young man – any witch or wizard would be lucky and proud to count you as their special someone."
Passing over the "or wizard" comment as something to consider later, Harry pulled a mock serious face and looked at Lorna. "I'm sorry, I must have missed the change in your employment contract that altered you to my life coach rather than my secretary." His colleague blushed. "Sorry, Harry, I know it gets on your nerves, but come on, throw an old girl a bone! I have to get my thrills vicariously now; Geoff's idea of a good night involves Celestina Warbeck on the radio and bed by nine o'clock. To sleep, that is! So are you off out tonight then?"
Shaking his head and grinning at Lorna's unkind description of her husband, Harry filled her in on his plans to meet up with Ron and Hermione for drinks and dinner. He was looking forward to seeing them again, he'd been too bogged down with work recently, and his on again/off again relationship with Ginny had made things awkward with Ron for a while. Hermione was more understanding, and in a recent conversation between just the two of them, had hesitantly expressed her opinion that Harry would be better off just being friends with Ginny.
Harry arrived at the bar they'd arranged to meet at with seconds to spare before six o'clock. The Witching Hour was a popular venue for twenty- somethings, and he peered round the crowded room, looking for some trademark red or bushy hair. His friends had obviously been held up – Ron was normally early if there was going to be food or drink involved, and he knew Hermione was on annual leave this week. She'd been visiting her parents, helping to look after her mother who had recently undergone surgery, but was due back today. Fighting his way to the bar, Harry ordered a drink, and took it to one of the few vacant tables. He fished his copy of the Prophet out of his pocket, and settled down to read whilst he waited for his friends. An hour later, he was starting to get worried. This was very unlike them. He was debating what to do, when one of the bar staff appeared by his table. "Errr," he began nervously. "Mr Potter, excuse me, there's a fire call for you in the back room." Harry followed him through to the room in question, and knelt down by the fire to talk to Ron, who was staring anxiously out from the flames.
"Harry, mate, we're so sorry. Hermione's mum took a turn for the worse, she's back in hospital. A blood clot or something, and Muggles seem to deal with these things in very weird ways. Anyway, obviously, we'll have to bail on you for tonight." After reassuring Ron, and sending his love and good wishes to Hermione and her parents, Harry wandered back in to the other bar. It had thinned out considerably; most people would be heading off to eat before perhaps moving on to some of the Wizarding Clubs in the area. As he made his way towards the exit, a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a figure that had apparently stumbled and fallen over a stool. As he watched, the person attempted to stand again, but was obviously hampered by a severe case of over indulgence in some sort of alcoholic substance.
Harry grinned, and moved to offer his help, but was shocked when he realised that the person he'd just pulled to his feet was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy peered malevolently at him through his fringe, which had flopped over his rather bloodshot eyes. "Oh joy," he slurred. "Joy, joy, triple joy. Just what I needed to make this day even more perfect. Potter. Perfect Potter." As he said the last two words, he poked Harry hard in the chest with his index finger. Harry backed off, intending to get away from Malfoy before he made too much of a scene, but his old rival grabbed hold of his robe and held on. "Hang on a minute, Potter, now you're here, there are a few things I'd like to say to you. Been meanin' to say them for some time, might as well get them off my chest." Before he could say any more, a burly, tattooed wizard who worked behind the bar stalked over. "Oy. You. Blondie. I've warned you several times already this evening, and now you've pushed me too far. Go on – OUT!" He raised his wand warningly, flexing his muscles as he did.
Malfoy, brave in his drunken state, seemed prepared to put up a fight. Suppressing the urge to leave him to it, and briefly wondering why he was doing so, Harry gripped Malfoy's arm firmly. "Come on, Sunshine, I think you could do with some fresh air. And perhaps some very strong coffee. Let's go." Malfoy bridled like a Victorian dowager. "Unhand me at once, Potter. You are offending all my sensibilities and probably infecting me with your disgusting Gryffindor germs. And never, never, ever address me as Sunshine." He seemed prepared to carry on in the same vein, so Harry bundled him out of the door before he could continue.
"Ok, Malfoy, you're on your own now. I should go home if I were you." Malfoy managed a travesty of his usual sneer. "Ah, but I am not you, Potter, something for which I thank all the deities I can remember on a daily or sometimes an hourly basis." He steadied himself against the wall next to them, and frowned. "Unfortunately, due to a minor disagreement with my father, I am unable to return to Malfoy Manor at the moment." He stopped and looked blearily at Harry. " Why, in the name of Merlin, am I telling you this? They must have slipped some Veritaserum into my Firewhiskey. Though it is, of course, all your fault. Anyway, I must rest my beautiful head elsewhere tonight." He leaned back against the wall and murmuring, "This seems comfortable," started to slide down the wall, his eyes closing.
Harry sighed, exasperated with the drunken idiot. "Come on Malfoy, you can't sleep there, you'll be arrested. Up you get." He heaved him to his feet for the second time that evening, but Malfoy remained asleep. Harry supported him whilst he considered the best course of action. He didn't want Malfoy to be arrested; plenty of MLE personnel still held strong grudges against families such as his, and he would undoubtedly end up with more than just a hangover to worry about. In the end he shrugged, held Malfoy close and Apparated both of them back to Grimmauld Place. Malfoy came to enough to vomit all over the newly laid parquet flooring in the hall, causing Kreacher to curse and mutter in a way that Harry hadn't heard for years. Dumping the once again slumbering Slytherin on the couch in the living room, Harry fetched blankets, a pillow and a bucket, which he placed strategically near Malfoy's head. Checking the time, he was surprised to see that it wasn't even eight thirty yet. Time for dinner, he'd fire call his favourite take away rather than bothering Kreacher.
Harry awoke in a leisurely fashion the next morning, relishing his Saturday morning lie in. Half way through a luxurious stretch, he suddenly remembered his house guest. He'd better get Kreacher to find a hangover potion, he imagined Malfoy would be in need of one this morning. He wondered whether Malfoy would remember anything of the previous evening, and was also curious as to why the argument with Lucius was all his fault. Somewhat reluctantly, he pulled his dressing gown on and went downstairs. As he neared the living room, he heard voices and paused to listen. To his horror, he realised that Malfoy was talking to Ginny; presumably she'd fire called him and got Malfoy first. She'd be furious that he was staying, she still loathed all of the Malfoy family. Harry bit his lip and leaned forward to listen more closely.
"I'm sorry, I'm not prepared to disturb Harry at the moment," Malfoy was saying. Harry took a moment to register that he'd used his first name. Ginny's reply was muffled, but Harry could hear the smirk in Malfoy's voice when he said. "Well, he's very tired, we were up most of the night, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how very……enthusiastic Harry is. I'm positively exhausted this morning and he is as well. Still, it's worth it; I've never felt so alive. Did he ever do that thing with his toes?….no, I mustn't be indelicate. Now, may I take a message for him for later?" The shriek from Ginny made Harry jump back from the door. He was stuck somewhere between outrage, hysterical laughter and a lingering curiosity about what the night would have been like if Malfoy's statement had been true. He gathered his courage and pushed open the door. "There you are, Harry," Malfoy purred. "I was just telling Miss Weasel that you were still asleep. We wore each other out last night didn't we?" He looked coyly at Harry who blushed and turned to look at Ginny's furious face. "Please tell me he's lying, Harry," she hissed "Why the hell is he in your house anyway? You push me away, tell me you're busy or tired, but you'll let him in!" The usual irritation that Ginny brought out in him recently was building up in Harry's gut. "I think Draco's explained everything pretty well," he said coolly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, there's an empty bed waiting upstairs. Come on Draco." He held his hand out to Malfoy, who took it, smirked, then blew a kiss to Ginny. "Bye bye Miss Weasel. We'll invite you to the wedding."
Ginny gave a final horrified gasp, then disappeared from the fire. Harry dropped Malfoy's hand, and the two of them eyed each other; Harry gazing questioningly at Malfoy who looked sheepish but also defiant. "What in the name of seven hells was all that about, Malfoy?" Malfoy sniffed. "I awoke a while ago, and your elf provided me with a potion to remove the headache I must have got from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. Do you not have guest beds to offer visitors? I was about to leave when that harpy appeared in the fire and immediately started interrogating me. I'm afraid my imagination ran away with me and I took the opportunity to put her in her place." He paused then looked slyly at Harry. "Didn't seem to worry you too much, Potter, you were happy enough to go along with my little….tale." Harry cleared his throat. "Yes, well, she's been getting on my nerves a bit, to be honest. It seemed a final, if rather brutal, way to get her off my back. So, thank you, I suppose; although I won't be thanking you when she's spread this story to all her brothers."
Gloomily, Harry decided that he'd better call Ginny again when Draco had gone, to put her straight. He was surprised how disappointed he felt at the thought of this, and not just because it might start her pursuing him again. Draco's hand in his had felt just….right, and he still had shivery, tingly feelings running up his arm. He wanted to hold it again, and stroke that soft blonde hair, and….here, Harry realised he was gazing wistfully at Draco (no longer Malfoy) who was looking puzzled, but also rather hopeful. Remembering his earlier curiosity he said, "So, before you go, Dr, er, Malfoy, why were you saying last night that your argument with your dad was all my fault?"
Malfoy looked mortified. At first it appeared he would prevaricate or refuse to answer, but then he seemed to mentally gird his loins. He looked down and said, "He was unhappy with me because he'd found a private scrap book and journal that I keep, and had looked at it. It contains some….personal thoughts, pictures and press cuttings, and he was unhappy with the subject matter." "Which was?" Harry queried. Malfoy looked up at him, gazing directly into his eyes, and appeared to come to an internal decision. "You," he said, simply. I've followed you closely, since the war, and have always been fascinated by you. I never thought I'd get the chance to get intimate with you, so the journal was my way of letting my feelings out. Now, if that's all, I will be on my way. I am most grateful to you for your hospitality."
He started to walk towards the fire, but Harry blocked his way. "Not so fast," he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes that would rival Dumbledore. "I may not be ready to leap into bed with you, but I'm certainly open to learning more about the "personal thoughts" that you have about me. He reached for Draco's hand again. And I'm definitely not averse to becoming "intimate" with you. Given time." He pulled Draco closer, and the two men embraced, and then gazed at one another again. "No one is going to like this," Draco said warningly. Harry looked thoughtful. "Oh I don't know," he mused. "I'm fairly sure that my life coach will be absolutely thrilled!"