See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Unfortunately, they aren't mine. *sniffs*


To: MustLoveQuidditch[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: IntrospectiveIntellectual[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Wednesday, May 14, 2008 1:15 p.m.

Re: Bold and spicy

Gryffin,

I can only hope that your taste in wine is indicative of your own personality. I tracked down a bottle of Australian Shiraz and served it with dinner Friday night. You were right; it was flavorful and spicy without being overpowering, bold and fruity without being sweet.

Let's see, another tidbit about me. I'm assuming from your last message that you're self-employed. I am as well, though my day seems a bit more structured than yours. As for my drink of choice on those tough days when tea just won't suffice, I generally turn to an oak-barrel aged Firewhisky. A shot or two to calm the nerves before a big meeting always does the trick.

Sly

Harry grinned, remembering Sly's words as he sipped a glass of Ogden's Finest in front of the fire. He'd been going back and forth with the man for more than a week now, their emails escalating to several a day. He'd developed an addiction to checking his email, unable to stop the zing of excitement that shot through him every time something new came in from Sly.

They'd shared a lot of mundane facts about themselves, arguing back and forth about wine and favorite foods, trading jokes and tidbits of their daily lives that wouldn't give them away. Harry was still laughing about the anecdote Sly had told him about his secretary last week – by all rights, it sounded like she ran the office, not the other way around. In turn, Harry had shared a few stories about working with Hermione, though he hadn't named her. From his response, Sly had quite enjoyed hearing about the perils of working with one of your oldest friends. They'd both been careful not to divulge what they actually did for a living.

His head snapped up when he heard the soft alert that signified a new email, sitting his glass aside and pulling his laptop over to him from its resting place on the sofa cushion. Harry's grin grew when he recognized the email address.

A wave of disappointment so heavy it was almost palpable shot through him as he read the words on the screen – an apology from Sly, saying he'd be out of contact for a few days while out of the office on a business trip. Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He glanced from his laptop to the bottle of whisky, his eyes narrowed as he thought.

He had a deadline coming up, and he'd been too distracted by Sly's messages to really concentrate on it. Shoving the temptation to drink away his disappointment, Harry re-settled the laptop on his knees, his brow furrowing as he called up the document he'd been working on and began to write. Maybe this forced separation from Sly would be a good thing – he might actually get some work done himself.

To: MustLoveQuidditch[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: IntrospectiveIntellectual[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Sunday, May 24, 2008 7:15 p.m.

Re: Apologies

Gryffin,

I am being called away unexpectedly on business, and I doubt I will be able to get away to write while I am gone. I apologize for stalling our electronic courtship (especially when things seem to be going so well), but a good friend needs help starting up a new business and I can't say no to the venture. He has his reasons for being so rushed, and I respect them, though I do regret they will take me away from our scintillating daily notes. I really have enjoyed getting to know you so far, Gryffin, and I hope we can continue when I return.

I am sending a small token to you through the service. The owner has assured me it will get to you, and I hope you'll enjoy it during my absence and think of me.

Fondly,

Sly

Harry read the short email for the fourth time while sipping a gorgeous glass of Shiraz from the bottle Sly had sent. Pansy sent it over via owl earlier that day. Harry had been so excited he hardly knew what to do with himself. He'd never had such a thoughtful gift, not even from lovers he had dated for months.

While he wasn't pleased that business had taken Sly offline, so to speak, for the next few days, it did give him a chance to reflect on what he knew about the man so far, which was frustratingly little. Determined to find a way to expedite the process, he sat down with his laptop and his lovely glass of wine to compose another note for Sly.

Three days later, Harry was still waiting for his reply. Hermione's rational influence quelled his panic; surely Sly was still on his trip, and he would reply when he could. While Harry knew that was likely the case, he couldn't help but worry he had been too forward in his response. Sly's gesture with the wine had been so sweet, and Harry had admittedly imbibed several glasses before he hit send after writing his latest missive. Sly seemed sophisticated; maybe his sloppy approach had offended him?

Hermione clamped a hand over Harry's knee, which had apparently been bouncing madly as he once again ran through the list of reasons why Sly might be avoiding him.

"Harry," she said sharply, squeezing his knee. "He will answer when he can. He warned you he would be out of contact for several days. Just relax."

He sighed loudly, hitting the refresh button on his email once more. He had plenty of new messages in the inbox, but none from the only bloke he was interested in hearing from.

"I'll take it away, if I have to," Hermione warned, her voice stern.

"Then you'll be the one to explain why I've missed my deadline when Abigail makes her angry Floo call," he said flatly.

Hermione pulled his laptop over toward her side of the table, pulling up the document Harry had been working on all morning. It was nearly blank.

"I'd be happy to explain to Abigail that her bestselling author couldn't meet the deadline for his latest book because he was going all emo about an email message sent to a man he has never even met," she said frostily.

He slapped her hands away from his computer, scowling.

"It's a process, Hermione. It's all up here," he said, tapping his finger to his head.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that, Harry. With you, it's always in your head," she said, smacking him over the head with a piece of rolled up parchment. "Get out of your head and stop obsessing over this man! He will email when he emails. He is working, just like you should be working."

Harry's dark mood lifted a bit as he was reminded of the revision tables and homework schedules Hermione used to torment him with in school. Things hadn't changed that much. He supposed that was the danger of having one of your best friends as your agent. He offered her a contrite grin of apology. She smiled sweetly back.

"Now get to work."


Draco groaned loudly, falling backward into his bed fully dressed. He was absolutely exhausted. His business trip had gone fairly quickly, just as he had hoped. Blaise and Theo had dragged him to several wizarding clubs around England similar to the one Theo wanted to develop to help give Draco an idea of what they were trying to do. The trip had gone quickly – they'd only been gone one night – mainly because Theo was anxious to get back to Ginny. She hadn't been too pleased about him leaving her so late in her pregnancy, and from what Draco understood, it was going to take a lot of wheedling and chocolate to get back into her good graces.

He'd barely been back in London for 20 minutes when an emergency Fire-call had come from France. Caleum had taken a nasty spill off a horse at the Malfoy chateau in Amboise where he had been staying. Draco hadn't even wasted time packing; he'd simply jumped into the Floo to get to Caleum's side as quickly as possible. That had been four days ago, and he was only now returning home.

Caleum was fine, thank Merlin. Draco insisted that he remain at the Amboise chateau, which was where he spent most of his time, despite the fact that he had begged to be allowed to come home with Draco. Draco wanted to keep him out of the papers, to keep their relationship a secret for as long as he could. He didn't want to be associated with Caleum in the wizarding press, and he took all manner of precautions to prevent it. The chateau was Unplottable, and Caleum always used the Floo when he came to Malfoy Manor. Draco had managed to keep him a secret for five years, and he prayed to all the Gods each day that his luck continued to hold.

Blaise had Flooed to the chateau shortly after Draco, having stayed behind to take care of any pressing business matters that needed immediate attention. He was almost as fond of Caleum as Draco was; he generally tagged along whenever Draco visited France, and he was often present on the nights Caleum came to Malfoy Manor for dinner several times a week. After checking in with Caleum, Blaise had returned to London to oversee any problems that couldn't wait for Draco's return, much like he had three years ago when Draco had taken a leave of absence to spend a year with Caleum in France.

Draco roused himself out of his near slumber, mindful that he was still fully dressed and hadn't responded to the rather large pile of urgent owls that had accumulated on his desk down the hall. He'd been up all night with Caleum, neither wanting to waste any of their precious little time together. He'd finally left him just before dawn, tucking the covers around him and kissing him gently before spending another hour giving instructions to the staff about how to deal with the mood swings and tempers he knew Caleum would have when he woke to find Draco had left.

He groaned, stretching as his body relaxed into the soft comfort of his bed. Caleum was a restless sleeper, but Draco hadn't been able to refuse when he'd asked him to stay with him the last few nights. He was away so often, it was hard for him to deny Cal anything when they were together.

Draco looked at his watch, groaning. It was nearly 9 a.m. He rubbed a hand briskly over his face, debating taking a short nap before his noon appointment at the office. He tried to visualize the work waiting for him, wondering if any of the correspondence was important enough that it couldn't wait a few more hours. And that didn't even take into consideration all the emails he'd have. Draco jolted to full wakefulness with a start. Emails. Gryffin. Mother of Merlin, he hadn't told Gryffin his trip had been extended. What must the other man be thinking? Draco nearly kicked himself. Things had been going so well, but he hadn't even given the other man a thought while he had been in France tending to Caleum.

He hurried down the hall to his office, almost afraid to check his email. He expected a few angry missives – surely Gryffin wasn't so patient that he'd let a five-day absence go unchecked, especially since Draco had promised he'd only be out of contact for a few days at most.

He scanned through the emails in his inbox, scrolling down until he found one from Gryffin. Curious, he thought. There was only one, and it was dated the day he left. He opened it quickly.

To: IntrospectiveIntellectual[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: MustLoveQuidditch[at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Sunday, May 25, 2008 11:42 p.m.

Re: Thank you, thank you!

Dear Sly,

The wine was absolutely lovely. How kind of you to remember it is my favorite. I enjoyed it with a creamy mushroom risotto, though I may have had too many glasses since I ate alone and had no one to share it with.

I'd like to expedite the process as well. I was thinking of you tonight, and I realized that although we've exchanged several emails I still don't know anything about what you do or the things that are important to you.

I am a writer. A mystery writer, to be exact. I've published several successful novels, and I'm working on another. (Or rather, I'm supposed to be working on another. I've found it hard to concentrate lately. Whenever I'm at my computer I find myself wondering about you, not writing as I should be.)

I live alone in a rambling old townhome in London that is far too gloomy. Contrary to the gay stereotype, I have no decorating talent, nor any wish to take charge of that sort of thing, even in my own home. I'm a rather hopeless case, I suppose, surrounded by ugly inherited furnishings and moldy portraits that hate me. I suppose I've not gotten rid of the portraits because their insults are almost comforting; they remind me of my childhood.

I've definitely had too much of that gorgeous Shiraz, as I've quite obviously passed into maudlin territory. I'd better close before I say something even more embarrassing.

Anyway, here's my idea. Let's do some word association. I'll email you a few words and you reply with what immediately comes to mind. No self-editing, no worrying about offending each other. Deal?

Let's get started.

Argyle. Potions. Wrackspurts. Christmas.

I hope your business trip went well. I'll be eagerly awaiting your return.

Gryffin

Damn it, Draco thought, reading the email through a second time, I wonder if I've completely blown it. He hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should he email Gryffin with his apologies, telling him about the unforeseen personal crisis that kept him away? No, Draco decided. He couldn't tell Gryffin about Caleum; he had no idea how the other man would react, and he didn't know him well enough to risk it. Caleum was an absolute in Draco's life; nothing would ever come between them. To accept Draco would be to accept Caleum. He was the reason Draco had ended all of his previous relationships; he'd never gotten close enough to any of them to tell them about Caleum. He'd come close, once, but Blaise had intervened and advised him not to. He had been right. It turned out the man had a sister who worked for the Daily Prophet – Draco was sure the temptation to sell Caleum's identity and his relation to Draco would have been too much to ignore for him.

He was too tired to think straight, so he was clearly in no condition to respond to Gryffin's email. But the man had been waiting nearly a week for a reply, and it seemed unconscionably cruel to put him off any longer. Besides, Draco's exhaustion leveled the playing field; it made him nearly as vulnerable as Gryffin had been when he wrote his last email half-drunk.

Draco called for a house-elf to bring some strong tea and sat down to start writing.

TBC