This is my first attempt at a post-Hogwarts fanfic. Please read and review, feel free to be critical! Thanks, Bex
Harry shook his head sending droplets of water from his thick hair flying around the bathroom and accosting the tiles as he tied a towel around his waist. He was finding it hard to conjure even the slightest amount of optimism about the night ahead of him. A few months ago, to the surprise of everyone Pansy and Neville had started dating. Even Hermione had been shocked when they walked into the three broomsticks holding hand and giggling with each other. The oddly matched couple had decided to throw a dinner party, and Harry hadn't been able to invent a valid preoccupation when cornered by Pansy in the ministry last week. It wasn't that he didn't like Neville's new girlfriend, amazingly she got on well with all of the Gryffindors. Harry thought her intelligent and found her wry humour refreshing, and she clearly adored Neville. Even Ron had grown to like her, and that was some feat considering his thoughts on the 'snakes'. No, it wasn't because of Pansy that he was feeling pessimistic; it wasn't even because he knew he'd be sitting at a table with Zabini and Nott. The reason for it was, unsurprising, Draco bloody Malfoy.
After resitting his 7th year at Hogwarts, along with the rest of his peers, Harry had left with a fierce determination never to speak to Malfoy again. Somehow, amongst the books and potion lessons he had found himself entertaining an obsession with the boy… no man, once again. But this wasn't the type of obsession he was used to. The very straight, very Gryffindor, very sexually inexperienced Harry had found himself growing more and more attracted to the very gay, very Slytherin, and Harry suspected, very sexually experienced Malfoy. He'd found himself staring at the veela like lips chewing on the pen in the library, far too often for his liking. He'd felt himself getting hard as he glimpsed a slither of pale stomach when Malfoy accidentally pushed his cloak aside. Merlin, he'd even started to compose sonnets describing Malfoy's hair in exact, romanticised, detail.
It was so wrong that he couldn't even tell Hermione about it without her thinking him either crazy of joking. So Harry had kept his crush to himself, and realised with horror that his crush was turning into love. You couldn't just crush on Draco Malfoy, especially when you knew as much about him as Harry did. Harry could have listed every book Draco had read over the past year, his favourite foods, even his sleeping habits. It scared him how obsessed he was getting and resolved to bury his feelings even deeper inside himself, praying for the day when they'd leave Hogwarts and Harry would no longer be forced to slink around the corridors in his invisibility cloak, half wanting to avoid Malfoy, yet still finding himself magically stood outside the Slytherin common room, checking the Marauder's map. He felt like a stalker, and he supposed he was. It was just so hard not to think about Malfoy all the time.
He looked at his reflection in the condensation-streaked mirror and took a deep breath, rubbing the glass and watching the condensation quickly reform. Tonight would be the first time he'd seen Malfoy in a year. The summer after Hogwarts, Narcissa and Draco had moved to France to stay with relatives and make a fresh start for themselves. The Malfoy name, although still highly esteemed in aristocratic wizarding circles, had a damaged reputation. Lucius was indefinitely behind bars in Azkaban, and the scars of the war were still deep. Narcissa and Draco's names, having both to some extend saved Harry's life, hadn't been dragged through the mud as much as other death eater's, but Narcissa had deemed it wise to move. Tonight though, Draco was back and would be dining at Pansy's. Harry couldn't fail to see the humour of Malfoy dining at Neville's house and a small chuckle escaped his lips as he spelled his hair dry. He didn't know the exact reasons why Malfoy had decided to return, but from what little information he'd gathered it looked like he was back for good. He had tried to extract as much as he could from Pansy without making his obsession clear to her, but he suspected that by asking where he was living he'd over-stepped the line, as she raised her eyebrows knowingly.
"The manor, of course. Why, I'm sure he'd love it if you popped in and paid him a visit golden boy." She winked. The nickname was said endearingly.
Harry was unsure on how he should act tonight. He was willing to act civilly if Malfoy did, although he had no idea what to expect. It had been hard to find anything out about the boy whilst he was abroad, all he knew was that he'd set up his own potions company. He'd heard this from, of all people, George Weasley. Apparently Malfoy had invented a love potion that made you instantly lust after the most inappropriate person in the room, yet weak enough to jump through the legal loopholes. The idea of it was so brilliant that George had been willing to put aside his feelings for Malfoy and buy a batch for the store. It had crossed Harry's mind that perhaps Malfoy had been sneaking the potion into Harry's pumpkin juice, but considering his feelings toward Malfoy refused to disappear after months of not seeing the man, he had to admit that the feelings were real and that they were there to stay.
After casting a quick tempus, Harry saw that he had half an hour before he was due at Neville's. This half an hour, he was loath to admit, was spent trying to find dress robes that would make him look attractive to Malfoy. He didn't normally dress up so much; usually he'd wear muggle clothing and chuck any cloak over the top so he could easily transition from muggle to wizarding areas without attracting too much attention to himself. This was easier said than done, when you were Harry Potter and had everyone staring at you in awe as you walked down Diagon Alley. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to buy his own drink in a bar, even though no one could accuse him of being short of galleons. Harry settled on a dark sapphire cloak with silver trim. He'd thought about wearing an emerald one but decided he didn't want to make it obvious that he was sidling up to Malfoy by wearing his house colours. The conversation with Pansy the other day had made him paranoid.
Suddenly nervous, Harry began pacing up and down his bedroom. He twisted his hands together, turning his fingers red. He felt sick, not at the thought of seeing Malfoy, but at the thought of Malfoy being indifferent towards him. He could picture it now, the blonde leaning across the table and flirting with Zabini, who would flirt back. Even worse was the thought that Malfoy might have a boyfriend. After coming out as gay in the weeks after the war, Draco hadn't been short of offers. In fact, it had even made front page of the Prophet when the Falmouth Falcon's Keeper had been spotted eating dinner with Malfoy. Harry had been furiously jealous, and remembered with shame how he had set fire to the Prophet as Hermione was reading it. He had had to pretend that it was an accident, but had received wary glances from the entire Gryffindor table.
A ringing entered his ears as his tempus charm went off. It was time to go. Harry apparated quickly after grabbing a wrapped bottle from the side, before he could invent an excuse and manage to convince himself not to go.
HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM-HPDM
Forgetting that it was rude to apparated straight into someone's house, Harry found himself in the parlor. Luckily no one was there, least not Malfoy, to comment on his faux pas. He strolled into the dining room where he assumed everyone would be, trying to duplicate the billowing of Snape's cloak. He did this not only to attract Malfoy's attention, but also because he'd always thought it looked cool, albeit secretly. He needn't have bothered, since Malfoy wasn't there. In fact none of his friends were. He walked back to the parlor, feeling more than a little stupid. Feeling like the time Ron had caught him singing a love song and dancing naked in the Gryffindor changing room. Pansy and Neville's house was huge. Neville had moved in with Pansy last month and she'd inherited the Parkinson, for lack of better word, palace. It was almost as grand as Malfoy Manor, although slightly less intimidating. It didn't have the lingering memory of Voldemort's presence, that's for sure.
Too embarrassed to go looking round the many rooms to find the company, Harry apparated outside and rang the bell. Neville, who seemed slightly stressed, opened it. He was wearing a pink, leather apron that was tied haphazardly around his waist, and had a streak of flour in his hair. Harry decided not to mention it, and leaned in to give his friend a friendly slap on the back.
"Harry! Good to see you, Pansy's had me doing all the cooking…' he looked down at his apron and blushed.
Harry handed him the present he'd bought. "Just fire whisky, thought we'd need it with the Slytherins here. Doesn't she have house-elves for that? She's practically part of a pure-blood monarchy."
As if on cue, two house-elves apparated next to Neville, bowed at Harry and proceeded to speak over each other.
"Mister Harry Potter-"
"Horgy thinks it is such a pleasure-"
"Pinky asks if mister Harry Potter would want any assistance…"
"To meet the savior!"
Harry grinned. He'd always liked house-elves, even when Dobby had dropped the cake on Mrs. Mason's head he'd liked him. Neville couldn't help but smile back.
"They are helping, but we have twelve guests! It's hard work Harry! There's only us three," he gestured to the two tiny creatures behind him, "And Koky, but she seems to be having far too fun entertaining Malfoy. I think she fancies him, which is completely bizarre." Neville shivered in mock disgust, Harry gulped.
So Malfoy was here. He'd known he would be of course, but Neville confirming it made it so much more immediate. He wished for a second that he hadn't come, but then shook the thought out of his head. Who was he kidding? He'd been waiting to see Malfoy the entire year, and this was his chance.
"Pinky will show you to the garden, it was nice weather so Pansy decided we'd eat outside," Neville smiled. Harry suspected that Pansy made all the decisions around here. Not only was Neville the most gentle of his friends, he was also the most likely to appease people. Especially Pansy, who's every word he treated like gospel. Not that Neville would even know what a gospel was, Harry thought.
Horgy scowled; disappointed that it would be Pinky who got to spend time with the savior of the wizarding world, and not him. Pinky held out her hand towards to large, opulent doors and gestured for Harry to follow her. He did so without protest, but not before sending Horgy and Neville a smile. He really wanted a house-elf of his own, if only for the company, but he knew that Hermione would never allow it. He wasn't really in the mood for a S.P.E.W lecture. Neville had been right; it was a nice evening. Summer light lit the grounds, the delicate white tent in the middle of the flat garden casting a pale shadow. He heard a sound from a bush and turned, expecting to see a gnome emerge. Instead, two fairies were giggling together, shimmering glittery powder onto the leaves below them. Of course, Harry thought half-amused, half-sarcastically, the Parkinson's wouldn't allow gnomes into their garden.
Pinky urged harry on, into the tent. A lavishly set table with twelve places was placed in the centre, with bottles of expensive alcohol dotted around. For that, Harry was relieved. He'd lost all his Gryffindor courage at the thought of trying to converse with Malfoy, without making his feelings known. He was okay with being gay, even in secret. It wasn't ideal, but it was certainly tolerable. But liking Malfoy? That, Harry thought, was not something that any sane person should be okay with.
Harry looked up, and his eyes were accosted with the site of long legs, an expensive cloak, and a sharp jawbone. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Draco Malfoy stood in the corner of the tent, laughing with Zabini, a glass of champagne held in his long fingers. Malfoy looked down at the bubbles in his glass, seemingly concentrating on their steady upwards journey until they met the surface of his drink. Involuntarily, Harry's mouth dropped open, as he stared at Malfoy's grey eyes so focused on an object when they should be focused on him. And suddenly they were, imploringly looking directly at Harry, who surprised them both by a simple smile.