*A million thanks go out to my wonderfully talented beta sordid_humors!*

Chapter 2

"You fucking blagger," Blaise said. "You went home with the old bartender didn't you? Quit your fucking lying, Drake."

Draco was sitting with Blaise back at their apartment, and his friend hadn't stopped questioning him about the previous night since he'd walked in early that afternoon.

Draco sighed, too exhausted to retaliate with an insult. "For the last time Blaise, I'm not lying. We danced, he pulled me into the back... and then we fucked like rabid dogs against the bathroom wall." He tried to change the subject. "So, how was the chick you left with?" It was only out of extreme desperation that he brought this up. He avoided vagina like the plague, even in conversation.

Blaise waved a flippant have in the air. "Oh, the usual. She threw herself at my dazzling good looks. Nothing out of the ordinary. So he actually took you back to his place?"

Draco gave his best friend a curious expression. "You actually want the pornographic details? And you're sure you're straight?"

Blaise laughed, shaking his head. Draco often hinted that Blaise might be gay...or curious. And although he didn't believe it for a second, he was endlessly amused by the straight man's reactions. "I just... I cannot believe you made it with him, Drake. I mean, I know you're good, but seriously? I thought it was a waste of time, even for you. Especially with Red there with him."

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Red?"

"Sure. His little fire-crotch of a mate."

Draco winced. "Lovely imagery, Zabini. How do you know all this anyway?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "We all grew up in the same city; the world's a lot smaller when you're sixteen. They went to Godric."

Godric High School was one of the four small secondary schools in the area, each specializing in certain subjects. Draco and Blaise had attended Salazar, Godric's biggest rival in everything from test scores to football.

At Draco's blank stare, he heaved an exasperated sigh. "Didn't you go to footie games?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, as if his expression alone answered the question.

"Read the school paper, then?"

Draco only intensified his expression.

Blaise rolled his eyes again. "Right, well, a lot happened while you were jerking off in your Malfoy-holier-than-thou-box. As in 'life'. I think you missed it. Anyway, Potter and his mate, Weasley, were the pride of Godric," Blaise explained impatiently. "Everyone thought they'd get recruited by an academy. I guess things didn't pan out."

"Okay..." Draco drawled. "And?"

"His father is a whimpering excuse of a man-works in government. Loathes your father, of course," Blaise added offhandedly, "but you can't blame him for that. I mean, who doesn't?"

Lucius Malfoy was a widely disliked man, ruling the Ministry of Justice with an iron fist. He was completely void of empathy; since his appointment, his influence in unfair trials and excessive sentencing had ripped apart and ruined countless families.

Draco was well aware of his father's misconduct, and frankly, wanted nothing to do with the man. They spoke sparingly on holidays and, if Lucius remembered to call on Draco's birthday, there would be an awkward exchange of insincere good wishes. Then it was a race to see who could hang up first.

However surprisingly, Lucius wanted to find a way to fix things with his son-Draco suspected selfish reasons over an actual concern for their relationship. He had hopes of Draco following in his footsteps, upholding the Malfoy name, but he knew Draco had no intention of doing so. And Lucius, being the emotionally ill-equipped man that he was, had no clue how to approach the problem, so it was an issue that a grateful Draco never really had to talk about.

"Yeah, I can't say I'm surprised. But what did he do to Weasley to make it so personal?"

Blaise shrugged. "Couldn't tell ya, mate. But if you ask me, Weasley's bound to be pissed right about now.

~.~.~

"You did WHAT?"

Harry didn't flinch. He'd been prepared for the outburst. "You heard me, Ron. You really want me to repeat it?"

Ron was a bright crimson all the way down to his neck, the vivid color disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Harry rarely saw him this furious: the few times he had had always involved Hermione, or Mr. Snape, their old Maths professor from primary school.

It was silent a little too long. Harry looked up, his pick still clamped between his teeth as he tuned his strings. Ron was blue in the face now and Harry got the feeling he was holding his breath to keep from exploding again.

"Uh, Ron? Breathe, mate. It helps with, you know, the living thing."

The red-head took a huge breath, as if he'd just reached the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning. "Harry," he articulated through gritted teeth. "What. The. Fuck?"

Harry raised an inquisitive brow.

"Don't play dumb, Potter. Why, of all the easy fucks you could have had, why Malfoy?" The disdain loaded into that single name gave Harry pause. He sighed.

"The name means less to me than it does to you, Ron. I'm sorry, I reckoned it wasn't that big a' deal. You've never cared who I sleep with. Plus...he's fucking fit, yeah? Do I need more of a reason?"

Ron pulled a face. "Ugh…"

Harry laughed. Putting his guitar strap around his back, he moved over to Ron and patted his shoulder. "Trust me, last night had nothing to do with his father." He smirked. "Unless his father is as good a toss as-"

Ron leaped away frantically. "Ahhh! Ahh! Shut up, Harry!"

A mischievous grin worked its way across Harry's face. "Sorry," he added, at least half sincere, despite his expression.

Though disgruntled, Ron seemed to accept the apology and dropped the subject. Harry wondered if he would regret asking but the words fell out, anyway.

"What exactly is the deal between him and your father anyway?"

Ron sat down at his drums, testing out the foot peddle a couple times. "He works with my father. He's a bigoted, patronizing arsehole who thinks the world owes him something because he's a rich spoiled little twatter. He enforces judicial laws that make no sense, and he so obviously discriminates against people he considers 'lower-class', it's laughable. Seriously, the guy's gonna rot in hell. I just wish someone would give 'em a hand getting there."

"Whoa, now, Ronald. Tell me how you really feel..." Harry mumbled.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry's sarcasm, but didn't reply. He frowned at the clock on the wall.

"Where the hell is Hermione?" he scowled.

"She'll be here, don't worry. Don't take your frustration out on your girlfriend," Harry prodded, trying to conceal a smile. Hermione and Ron had been at each other's throats twenty-four-seven for over ten years but it was obvious to Harry that there was something between them...despite the persistent denial on both sides.

His friend shot him a glare. "She is not my bloody girlfriend... cheeky git. Don't push your luck, Potter. I already hate you today."

Harry smirked, adjusting his cap and the bits of shaggy black locks that peaked out past the rim. "You love me, Weasley," he teased.

The brunet ducked, barely avoiding the drumstick thrown lovingly at his head.

~.~.~

"So… what're your plans tonight?"

Blaise could hear the underlining question concealed in his friend's words. He gave the blond a skeptical look. "Didn't get enough last night there Malfoy? Well, I hate to tell you this, but I'm pretty well knackered. Not sure I can handle much more than video games and porn tonight."

"You're always knackered," the blond argued. "How is tonight any different? Besides, the real thing is always better than porn."

"Meh," Blaise shrugged. "Depends on how tired you are. My right hand takes a hell of a lot less effort than taking the time to please a bint. Good ole righty does the selfish job in 5 minutes flat, and I never have to buy it flowers on its birthday."

Blaise had been rummaging around in the fridge. He emerged from behind the refrigerator door with a cartoon of orange juice, taking a huge swig from the container. "He's not even playing tonight, Drake. Wait 'til next weekend."

Draco resisted the urge to pout. He was inexplicably anxious to see the Potter boy again. He couldn't stop thinking about his firm abs, toned arms and shoulders…

He fidgeted in his seat. His eyes fell on his roommate, who was wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs and sweatpants, looking scally and oh-so-fuckable. Blaise was in terrific shape, Draco had to admit. If it wasn't for the fact that Zabini was his best friend, not to mention straight as a board, Draco would have pounced him a long time ago. Now, Draco suddenly found himself quite unnaturally taken with the trail of dark hair that pointed down from Blaise's belly button and beyond the band of his boxers...

The brunet noticed Draco's eye line, and nearly choked on his orange juice.

"NonononoNO!" Blaise blurted, yanking open the fridge door and hiding behind it, effectively shaking Draco from his day dreaming. "Oh, ew! For fuck's sake, mate! how many times have I told you? You cannot look at me like that!"

Draco shrugged, aware that this mishap was viable as black mail. "I can't help it," he added in self-defence. "I've got sex on the brain."

Blaise covered his face with his hand in frustration, then ran his fingers up to tug at his hair. "Okay, Malfoy. You win. We'll go..." he smiled then, looking resigned. "You manipulative, horny little twat."