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xxx

I spend the entire day with the set of research books on dragons that Potter had the decency to tell me I could borrow, right before he left early in the morning without so much as glancing my way. Bastard. Regardless of who they belong to, they're really rather interesting, and I'm soon engrossed – it's no small feat given that the burns on my back have started to itch.

Apparently the reserve is funded by our government, in spite of the fact that most countries use its research and are able to protect their dragon species by sending them here. It's unsurpassable in the care it gives to the dragons here, as evident by our horrendously long working hours, and its success rate in assimilating young dragons back into their own herds. Worthy of some note is the fact that there are, on average, five forest fires on the reserve per month.

Splendid.

Aside from that, it seems to be a bit novel in the fact that the dragons here are capable of coexisting in the same place with only the occasional tiff to mark their territory, usually between the Horntails and the Ridgebacks, unsurprisingly. That's how it ought to be, I think. Show everyone where your boundaries are, then leave everyone the fuck alone and vice versa. I reckon that's where the Dark Lord and I didn't really see eye to eye.

In any case, things seem to work pretty well on the reserve and have for quite some time – centuries in fact. I break from reading only for lunch and dinner and that's only because I've the sense that if I don't, Potter might shove my beans and mash down my throat which, I'd imagine, is something to be avoided.

An hour or so after dinner, Potter comes into our tent to grab something, though he only makes it halfway across the floor before Johnson's voice from outside floats in after him. "Oh and grab Malfoy while you're in there too."

He freezes, his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to understand. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I look up at him coyly from my sitting position on the bed, and he folds his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed. "You're going to Sighisoara?" I toss his book aside and run my fingers through my pale blond locks. I hadn't intended to go actually, but seeing him annoyed like this makes the idea entirely worth my while.

I shrug. He pulls on a sweater and grabs a filthy thing out of one of his crates that I believe the Muggles call a wallet. "Come on then." I stand and grab a pack of cigarettes before following him out. Angelina and Lee Jordan are standing outside, nattering on about the Hebridean Blacks and their mating season, which I'd no desire to know about in the least bit. "I'd thought you'd died," Jordan says, and I sigh.

"Despite everyone's best efforts… including my own… no." He snorts.

Angelina cocks her head to the side impatiently. "Are you both quite finished? We've the rest of the night to get acquainted." She glances knowingly at Potter and then back at me. I give her a irritated glare for her trouble.

To her credit, she ignores me and instead holds out the empty tin of beans in front of her. "Our chariot, ladies." It's a Portkey - I'm surprised. Sighisoara is within apparating distance, but I'd revoked my right to have a license when I took the Mark, apparently, along with all of the other basic human rights that most take for granted. In any case, I'm caught off guard that they have remembered this, not to mention taken it into account.

Or at least, Angelina has.

I feel a tell tale twisting sensation of being pulled through space and quickly lose all sense of direction, suddenly feeling a bit apprehensive about the night ahead of us all.

xxx

The city's rather cozy, I suppose, as is the piano bar we've ventured into. Already we're on our second round, and Angelina's just ordered us all shots of… something. I'm certain I don't want to know exactly what cheap liquor I'm expected to down tonight. "Sip or shoot?" she asks me, and I've a feeling she's taking the piss. I imagine she thinks I'll sit back with my legs crossed like a proper pureblood and sip it with my pinky out or some such. I flip two fingers her way, which earns me a laugh from her and a smirk from Potter.

I throw it back quickly and find that it burns on its way down, but not unpleasantly so. Firewhiskey is worse, but of course, it would be. There's nothing more common tasting than a shot of Ogden's.

Potter's watching me as I set the shot glass back down and my head buzzes with both the alcohol and the strange intensity of his stare. "Come on Malfoy." Angelina jerks her head toward the little dance floor in front of the stage and I grimace. I only took part in the various balls held by my parents because it was expected of me, so the idea I'd do any dancing willingly is a bit absurd.

She shoves another shot glass at me and I accept my fate. I down it quickly and follow her out until we find a suitably empty space on the floor. She moves gracefully for a Chaser, and a Dragon keeper for that matter, while my own slender form moves unenthusiastically to the beat afforded to us by the banging on the piano keys and the loud singing that they'd taken the liberty of calling music.

"He's watching you," she says over the music after a time.

"I've no idea what you're on about," I reply dully. I look unimpressed though inwardly, I'm intrigued by this strange interest she's taken in Potter and I. Outwardly, we appear to hate each other and I'm quite certain that, for him, he feels it all the way to his bone marrow. His spite toward me has never been half-assed. Even when he saves my life, I've the sense that he's only doing it out of an obligation toward his own morality, which I'm sure he begrudges to no end.

"Harry," she replies, perhaps a bit unnecessarily. I glance over at the pair we've left at the bar, and Potter's looking dutifully away in a manner that suggests he was doing exactly the opposite not a moment before. I smile grimly.

"I'd warrant that he takes some sort of strange joy in watching a Death Eater trying to dance." The idea of any of the Dark Lord's little band of fools enjoying a mindless dance or two is amusing. I'm certain that Severus is rolling over in his grave at the moment, if only because I'm fraternizing with a band of mismatched Gryffindors. "Jordan's watching too, and I've a feeling it's not because he enjoys seeing my arse in these jeans."

She laughs. "Lee's a sweetheart. Head over arse for me though, the idiot." She shakes her head derisively, and I wonder at her ability to scorn some poor bloke for adoring her. The witch seems to realize this however, and glances at me sharply, though her body doesn't miss a beat. Her waist is warm under my hands as she gives a measured look, and I can tell she's about to explain something that I really couldn't give a shit less about.

"I've no intention of getting involved with anyone so soon. Besides all that, George isn't well."

My shoulders sag a little because I know I'm going to take the bait. "Isn't well…?"

"Hit the bottle a bit too hard, hasn't he." Her gaze darkens considerably before she shakes off the gloom and pulls me a bit closer to her.

"Give him a good show, Malfoy." I shake my head at her audacity. Unbelievable.

"You act as though he's said something to make you think he's interested," I reply dryly. I've no intention of giving anyone a 'show' tonight, particularly since I've always been accustomed to letting everyone else do the bizarre human equivalent of a mating dance while I sit back and take my pick.

She smiles. "No, he hasn't… but what Harry Potter doesn't say is usually just as telling as what he does say." I consider this, and I suppose it's in some ways true. For all the attention-seeking, spotlight-whoring situations he's gotten himself into, he's always seemed to stumble into them accidentally, rather than sign up for them willingly, no matter how much I've always tried to convince myself otherwise. Thus, he's always seemed somewhat private, which has only been confirmed by the sheer number of interviews he's turned down since saving the world.

Ten minutes later, as we're making our way back to the bar to rejoin the rest of our sorry party, I find my path cut off by a dark-haired bloke who looks a little older than me but whose appearances have by no means suffered because of the extra years. He natters on something in Romanian and I blink at him coyly, already aware of where this is headed. "I don't speak Romanian."

"Ah," he nods and gestures between us, his eyes honest and sincere. "Dance?"

I look over to when Angelina makes it back to Jordan and Potter, and Potter leans in close to murmur something to her, pointing in my direction. Angelina looks up and over at me and shrugs, a small smile on her lips before murmuring something in reply. Potter stands suddenly and downs the rest of his lager, then makes his way out of the bar and into the cobblestone alleyway beyond.

I'm perplexed.

I give my Romanian a wry grin but murmur some excuse to leave him there. He's gorgeous of course, but I've no desire to get involved with anyone here unless it's for a quick shag in the loo, and judging by the heartfelt look on his face, that isn't what he had in mind. "Yes, okay… but next time we dance, beautiful boy." His fingers touch the inside of my wrist as I turn away toward the exit, ignoring Angelina's knowing glance. Jordan raises his bottle in my direction, the prick.

Potter's not made it far when I step outside into the cold night air. He's leaning against the front of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips and barely glances my way. "So did he suck your cock, or did you suck his?"

I draw my eyebrows together, my pale face clearly amused at this showing of misplaced malice he's clearly using to cover up something else. "You've only been out here for five minutes, Potter. Even I'm not that good."

"Such a fucking tease," he says nastily, and I'm caught off guard. I can't even find any words to say, which is a first for any Malfoy, I'm certain. "That's your problem Malfoy. You never fucking follow through."

"Excuse me?" I raise an eyebrow, second guessing my choice to come out here for a cigarette… which is indeed why I'd come out here. It hadn't anything to do with the bastard I'm currently sharing air with.

"Couldn't kill Dumbledore, could you? Had to have Snape do it. Didn't even switch sides properly in the end either, despite the fact that you would've died about three different times if it wasn't for me…"

"Right." And with a darkening gaze, I'm setting off in the opposite direction without caring at all if it's the right one. My goal is simply to put as much distance between Potter and myself so I can't strangle the bastard. His sudden outburst is unwarranted, meaning that for once in my life, I didn't actually deserve someone hanging me out to dry, and I suddenly have a glimpse at what it might have felt like for him to listen to me spew out rubbish in his direction that I didn't really believe.

"Where are you going, Malfoy?"

I turn on him then, and I'm certain that I look like some kind of feral, wild thing. We Malfoys have never really had the best self-control. "Away from you, because I'd imagine the Ministry of Magic might have a problem with me killing Harry fucking Potter." It's just a guess, honestly, because what do I know anymore?

Not much, it would seem. Even Potter, the most predictable human being on the planet, is throwing me off lately.

He looks around mockingly. "I suppose you were going to walk until you made it back to camp."

"Yes," I nearly shriek.

He scowls, and yet still manages to look perfectly composed while doing it. It makes me hate him even more, because I know I probably like someone's Persian cat left out in the rain. "I'll Side-Along you."

I sneer. "Is that some kind of sick innuendo?" I turn haughtily on my heel to continue on my way before I turn around, finger raised and pointed at him. "For your information, I am not a tease when it counts, Potter, which you would know if you weren't so entranced with yourself that you're perfectly content spending night after night fucking your own hand."

He pauses, suddenly uncertain, but then his eyes change and darken with something that is entirely too familiar to me. "How would I know that?"

I freeze, heat rising to my too pale cheeks. "Because I don't know… maybe you'd treat me like I'm not just something in your head… like I'm a memory. Maybe you'd realize that I'm here in front of you, in flesh and blood, and that…" I fade off for a moment, my eyes wide with alcohol and frustration. "And that I'm trying to make you see me as I am rather than what I was. But you won't fucking forget, will you? You'll never fucking forget."

Potter closes in slowly and I back away, eyes narrowed, certain I'm about to be cursed within an inch of my life. "Do it," I snarl, adrenaline humming in my veins. My fists clench, because I know that if they didn't, my hands would be shaking. "Just fucking do it already. I know you've wanted to since I got here."

I feel myself slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway at my back, my thin shoulders scraping against it as Potter holds them there. I can't make out anything else about my surroundings, because Potter is my whole world in that moment. He's so close I can see his pulse jump at the base of his throat, and I can smell beer and whatever cologne he uses radiating off of him. "Do it," I taunt again, my gaze sliding along the stubble at his jaw and his eyes that flicker from mine to my lips and back up again.

"What are you waiting for? Coward! You fucking-" My words are cut off by his lips on mine, crushing the air out of my lungs with sharp gasp that I'm vaguely ashamed of.

There's no sudden burst of understanding… there's no epiphany as Harry Potter kisses me. There's only a frantic desperation to get a grip on the situation before it overcomes me, or worse, passes me by entirely. I've never felt so out of sorts with another man before, although to be fair, I've never been quite this caught off guard by another man before either.

His hands slip from my shoulders and his fingers splay across my hips instead, pulling them flush against his. I can feel how hard he is already and that in itself seems to jerk me awake like a bucket of water to the face.

My head tilts backward in spite of my slights efforts at exhibiting some self-restraint, and he nudges my chin to the side so he has better access to my neck and throat. "Fuck, Malfoy… you've no idea what you do to me…"

For once in my life, I have to admit that Harry Potter is right.

I try to lean into him, but he pushes me back into the wall with a low growl that, I have to admit, sends a shudder down my spine. "Don't move," he murmurs, as if I could even if I wanted to. He nudges his thigh between my legs and my hips buck forward of their own accord, pale lashes falling shut with a soft moan that he seems to enjoy. He brushes his lips against mine again. I've given up trying to make sense of anything right now, and lean in to kiss him back. But the bastard pulls away, until I'm chasing after him like a fool.

His mouth curls into a smile.

"You hate me," I whisper.

"Yeah, I do," he says as he kisses me again. I think that if this is hate, then I much prefer it to love. Love is why my family expected to follow their wishes and love is the reason why I was forced to do so many unspeakable, awful things.

Fuck love.

I'm shaking as his hips press against mine, though I'm relieved to find that he wants this as badly as I do. His tongue brushes over my bottom lip lightly, in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. Our hands are everywhere at once, pulling at each others clothes and raking across each others skin. I'm desperate to see what he looks like underneath… to see if he's as fit as he looks even with his robes on.

My thumb grazes his jaw and my tongue soon follows, tracing over his rough stubble. "Tease," he groans, this time without any real malice.

"Am I still a tease if I intend to follow through?" He hisses softly as I bite the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. I've always loved finding out how far I can push someone... how far they're willing to go for me. But it's a bit different when it's Harry Potter I'm kissing and touching and wanting to do unspeakable things to.

His fingers drop and graze across the front of my jeans. "Harry…" I choke out, and he gives me a searching look.

"Let me take us back to camp," he murmurs gruffly. I nod.

With his rough hands still pulling at my clothes and my hips, we Apparate.