Notes: This is a fic that appeared because I felt like important things always happen on full-moon, half-moon, or new-moon nights, in all stories everywhere, so then I HAD to write a fic where everything happens on weird-moon nights. Oh, and thanks to all the wonderful people who have been so supportive and complimentary of my writing.

Awkward Moons

They finally met again on a summer night when the moon was thin as a sickle, close to waning into nothing. It rose late, a slash in the eastern sky at three in the morning, when they were still awake but too tired to throw things at each other anymore. Instead, the two of them sat silently against the metal railing that circled the patio for the penthouse bar, throwing an occasional sleepy insult at each other.

"Moon's nice," Draco suddenly declared.

Harry gave him an odd look.

"What? It is. I like astronomy, all right? Fuck off."

The rambling made Harry laugh. "Go to bed, Malfoy, you're late and it's drunk." A pause. "I mean, you're drunk and it's late."

Draco ignored him for a bit, before finally dragging himself to a wobbly standing position. "Stupid Potty. Ruining my night and telling me what to do. So like you."

"Malfoy, I don't see how it's my fault. You walked in, ignored your date, and then screamed at mine. All I did was scream back at you."

"Oh, so it's my fault my date ended up in your girlfriend's lap?"

Harry blinked. "Yes." Before Draco could continue, Harry added, "And that wasn't my girlfriend."

"Really?"

"A lady I've been working with. They told me to go drinking with her since she wanted to so badly."

Draco snorted loudly before giving a sickly sweet smile. "Harry Potty the Golden Boy, hm? Old habits, hm? Can't pick out your own social life without interference, hm?"

"Shut up, you ferrety prat. Keep it up and I'll take you home as compensation."

"Maybe next time," Draco replied with a saucy wink, before Disapparating. Harry felt a brief moment of concern over how many splinched bits of Draco would arrive at the Manor, but he figured Draco probably had more than enough practice. He got up and Disapparated himself.

The next time they met, the moon was an awkward partly-full shape, like a balloon starting to deflate. It was high already by midnight, and so were Draco and Harry from too much Firewhiskey. The rooftop bar was busier that night, but the two seemingly paid the crowd no mind as they sat at a table in the far corner, looking down at the lit-up city.

"New boy-toy?" Harry inquired, voice filled with boredom as he toyed with his glass.

"Obviously not."

"Hey," said Harry smugly, "It's not my fault he ran when he saw me."

"Oh, shove off. It was completely and totally your fault. Otherwise I would be home right now, and a lot happier, not to mention less drunk and severely less stiff."

"Hey, I offered—"

"Potter, do you have some sort of complex? I'm not taking you home."

Harry waggled his eyebrows teasingly, trying not to burst into spontaneous laughter at Draco's all-too-serious frown.

"Anyway," continued Draco, getting back into gear, "I don't see you picking anyone up. What, cantaloupe size too small for you?"

"I'm pretty sure if they reach that size, you'd have to see a urologist." Draco drew back briefly and coughed.

"Er. Could we…not talk about that? The mental images are…painful."

"You brought it up, Malfoy."

"If you must have me say it tactlessly, I was assuming you still chased skirts."

"Stereotyping, Malfoy? I'd have thought you were past that stage."

"Potter, when have you ever given me cause to think otherwise?"

"Well, let's see. When I offered to replace your girlfriend? When I offered to replace your boyfriend?"

"Most people are generally joking when they say that kind of thing, you know."

"Malfoy, are you touched in the head? As far as I can tell, none of the eighty million people who flirted with you tonight were joking."

"Yes, but when I say 'most people', I mean people like you, who don't normally hang out at sleazy bars and get too drunk to remember whether they like girls or boys."

Harry sighed. "I hate you a great deal, Malfoy."

"I'm sure I'll hate you more by tomorrow."

"Go home, then, so I don't have to look at your snobby face."

"Oh, shut up," Draco replied, not sounding actually annoyed as he Disapparated.

Nights passed, until a somewhat waxed crescent moon floated up into the sky around six in the evening. By one in the morning it was ready to set, and Harry found himself on the veranda with Draco yet again, one too many shots of liquor in their systems.

"Why do I always lose my dates when you're around?"

"Because they're ugly."

"They're—Potter, are you trying to insult my taste?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare."

"Then what—"

"Your dates aren't great people in general, you know. Sort of…pardon the girliness…ugly on the inside."

"Potter, I don't care about that, I just want to stop feeling horny."

"I was never sure how you stood it, always dating people even I consider dense. And you thought I was dumb." Harry shook his head.

"Again. Shagging. On my agenda quite often, and generally not related to whether I can actually stand the person I'm shagging."

"You can't do permanent shagging? Or even semi-permanent shagging?"

"Tried that, got too annoyed, stopped."

"Well, did you try it with someone like the people you're usually here with?"

Draco stared blankly at him. "Yes."

"Then, there, that's the problem. Maybe if you could stand the person, the semi-permanent shagging wouldn't be so bad."

"You're the wonderboy of relationships now?" Draco scoffed, "I don't see you in here with any semi-permanent shags. Or any temporary shags, for that matter." He draped an arm over Harry's shoulders. "Aren't you a lonely little Gryffindor?"

"Get your arm off of me, Malfoy," Harry threw back, trying to shrug off Draco's arm. "It's heavy and you're hot."

There was a pause before Draco leaned even harder on Harry and snorted with laughter. Harry flushed in a strange combination of mortification and smugness.

"I, er, meant, you're heavy and it's hot. Of course."

"No way am I ever letting you forget about this," Draco told him between giggles.

"Until tomorrow when the hangover erases this scene from both our minds."

"No, no, no. I shall treasure it forever. There should be a Prophet article: 'Boy-Who-Lived Prefers Death Eater Arse.'"

This time it was Harry who Disapparated first.

Some time later, when the moon was looking like a slightly dented version of a half-moon, glowing serenely overhead at approximately two in the morning, Draco realized he was getting far too used to Harry being the side dish to his Firewhiskey. It could not be healthy, since it was the first time he had not even bothered finding a potential lay-of-the-day.

"I don't think you realize just how much I hate you right now."

Draco smirked. "Oh, I think I do."

"No, really. Take how much you hated me when you were a ferret, and multiply that by about thirty thousand."

"All I did was get you away from that greasy little git."

"Malfoy, that greasy little git was my date."

"Touchy?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I don't see why I should. He was obviously a prat."

"Oh, and I suppose you would know?"

"Of course. What is it they say? Birds of a feather? I can spot my own kind at a hundred yards, and he was obviously worse than me."

"Vain git."

"Gormless berk."

"How are you at all better than him?"

"Let's see. I know the wonders of bathing. I know more about you than 'Hi, my name is Harry, I like Firewhiskey and treacle tart.' And the biggest difference? I tell people I only do one night, and act like my normal manipulative self at all times."

"Gee, makes me wonder if I should take you home."

"I'm not going to pretend to be a sparkly girl of a ponce, at least." Draco paused. "And I'm not that ugly. But you knew that." Harry tried not to flush.

A silence.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

"Go the fuck home."

A week later, on a slightly cloudy night when the moon was a day from being full, and looked to all but the careful like it really was just full, Harry found himself snogging a hot blond bundle of nervous energy. The light filtered on and off their faces as the moon passed in and out of the clouds.

"Do you think it says something about us that it's the second time our dates turned lesbian with each other?" Draco had asked at the beginning of their chat.

"Hmm," Harry had replied, and then the dozen Firewhiskeys had kicked in, and the snogging had begun. He was glad Draco was not complaining.

Sometime later, when the moon moved further up in the sky, around 1:30 in the morning, Draco actually did take Harry home, and the sometime pale light shone on their ever-more-revealed skin. From what they could piece together in the morning, it was hot and sticky and soft, and it felt fairly bloody amazing, and that was pretty much all they remembered or cared about.

The next day brought a full moon on a clear night.

Nothing else happened.

The day after that, the sky had clouded over by the early evening, so Draco picked a table beneath a lamp to sulk. From seven to eight, every other passerby tried to flirt with him, and he tried to pout sexily in his chair and ignore them. At about 8:15, Harry finally walked up to the table.

"You're late," Draco told him petulantly, "And you didn't call me."

"First of all, you know perfectly well we've no set time—"

"Let me have my immature moments."

"—and secondly, I thought you were only a one-night deal. And since when have you been such a girl?"

"Since it was you, you berk!"

Draco hurriedly clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was far too late.

A fat drop of water fell onto his bare arm.

"Draco. Honestly, I thought it was rather brilliant shagging, and I wouldn't be averse to more of the same every day for the rest of my life. If you want something other than one random night, you'll have to grow some bollocks and say it."

Draco felt a couple more drops on his face, and Harry caught one on his ear.

"By…rest of your life, does that mean without shagging other people?"

Harry's voice held a warning tone.

"If you're asking someone to do rest of your life, Draco, it's generally a bad idea to ask them if you can have bits on the side."

"I meant you, git."

In an instant, Harry's face went from angry to confused to incandescent.

"Draco, if we repeat last time every day for the rest of our lives, I don't think I'd want to shag anyone else. Or be physically able to, for that matter. All I expect is that you drop the floozies as well."

"I…then, we're…"

The rain began to fall in earnest, and Harry smiled and held out a hand.

"Want to take me home?"

Draco smirked, shaking his head. "You and your complex."

This time, they Disapparated together.