At the Bar

The barkeeper stood behind a black wooden counter, mixing a martini, when Harry and Draco sat down in front of him. He nodded at them with the disinterest of the stereotypical butler and murmured "Good evening", while letting an olive plop into the glass.

Skimming the menu Harry suggested "The Cuba Libre was excellent last time." Turning the page of the booklet Draco shrugged "I don't care. I'll have a Gin Tonic and a chicken sandwich." He nodded at the barkeeper and turned towards Harry, who still pondered his choice.

With hardly any idle time Draco huffed in hopefully pretentious exasperation "You are the worst company I've ever had, counting a madman and his crowd at the Manor." Harry rolled his eyes at him and quickly ordered randomly, before Draco could jump up and flee. Again. Whatever reasons Harry would have to come up with afterwards, they were important enough to want to hold Draco's company just a little while longer.

"Well Draco, what are you doing here in Bristol?" Draco shook his head, still irritated at Harry's almost hermitic lifestyle.

But somehow Harry's persistent silence and attentive demeanour must have won him over, because he started in a bored voice.

"I work here in a muggle office, that collaborates with the Ministry of Magic. We check on people who had contact with magic, for remaining difficulties. It's part of my sentence until the trace will be taken off of me."

Harry frowned. "I thought it was three years on probation without the trace. I was there, when they announced it at the trial." Draco rolled his eyes at him.

"Of course you did." He orientated his upper body towards Harry and started a heavy eye-ontact thing, which made it really hard for the brunet to follow the story. "After a year I was retried. There was a huge feature in the Daily Prophet. They even used a coloured picture to catch my 'ashen face'." He signalled the quotation-marks with his hands, smirking at Harry, who didn't feel like smiling at all at this surprising turn of... trial sentences.

"Why? Your trial was almost four years ago, since a year you should have been free to do as you please. Is that even allowed?" Harry ruffled agitated through his hair, his thoughts jumped from Hermione, who obviously intentionally failed to inform him about the retrial and Kingsley, who might be able to change the verdict again.

Draco took a sip from his drink and send him a sly smile. "I'll always do as I please, at the moment a little more restricted than I'm used to, but I manage." Draco dipped the lemon slice into the ice of his drink, drawing Harry's attention on his slender, but strong, hands. They were pale, doubtless like the rest of his body, and held no imperfection, with smooth skin around his nails, that shone in the damp light of the establishment.

Before he was able to hint on the possible reasoning behind the change, Draco went on. "I had a little trouble with my supervisor. The story filled the front page of the Prophet for a week." Draco went on with a low innuendo, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

"What problems?" Harry enquired sternly.

"Why don't you just read the paper, Potter?" Draco sounded a little annoyed now and Harry replied in a teasing manner to soothe the strained atmosphere, especially, because his own equilibrium seemed to swirling along with the lemon in Draco's drink.

"I thought you are a much more reliable source when it comes to your life." Luckily Draco picked up on the notion and took the seriousness out of the atmosphere by going along with a light tone.

"That indeed, but the paper is much more patient than me." He smiled blazingly at Harry, who almost lost his train of thought wondering why Draco didn't smile more often. He escaped the influence by taking a gulp of his pint, that arrived discreetly with the gin tonic while they were talking. Mumbling into his drink he flashed Draco the puppy eyed look, that he frequently used on Molly.

"If I promise to read the article afterwards, will you tell me? I don't want to be influenced by the written words of people I don't even know." He shot Draco brimming eyes and a pouty mouth.

Instead of an explanation Harry received his reward in a seemingly wholehearted laughter. Draco's head tilted slightly back, his shoulders lifted up and amusement clung to his cheeks as well as eyes.

"Potter, that was great! If I would trust you and had at least an A Cup this would have worked just fine!" He sniggered into his beverage. "I would have put you into my stylish purse and brought you home to present you with a jar of cookies and milk, before I'd tuck you into bed. Hell, you just made it worth it, that I endured the shit you gave me earlier, without punching you." Draco wiped an imaginary tear away.

Harry smiled back at him, solely from confusion. Whiplash is friendlier than Draco's mood swings. "You sounded like Ron, just now." At Harry's words Draco switched immediately to a snarl.

"Dim-witted? Your insults are getting better by the minute, such a gift."

Harry send him a lopsided grin, that just cried for maintaining a calm, bright mood. "No. You sounded like a close friend."

Draco startled but quickly grabbed the cloth above his heart and fluttered his eyelashes at Harry. "I'm quite the actor myself, Harry. I learned from the best."

"Your dad?" Harry eyed him sceptical. "He had the cold disdain to a T, but I doubt he'd be able to fake utter joy like that."

Draco's cheeks flushed slightly pink. He cleared his throat and scrunched his nose as if he smelled something fishy. And if it weren't for his defined Malfoy-looks Harry would have thought Narcissa Malfoy sat before him, when Draco started talking in a haughty tone. "There are some useful things a boy can learn from his mother. Observe." He pretended to throw a scarf over his shoulder and flipped the bangs above his ear.

Harry erupted in laughter, amused and impressed by the skill Draco showed a glimpse of.

When he settled down he glanced at Draco, noticing the warmth that seemed to spread from the former Slytherin. "How is your mother doing? I always wanted to thank her in person for the help during that night."

Draco needed some time to respond, but Harry was glad that he finally answered in earnest. Probably.

"She is fine. A little piqued that I spend less time at the Manor, but since father is back, she has enough to concern herself with." He nestled at the sandwich in front of him, that arrived a few seconds prior and continued, throwing Harry a sparkling glance.

"And I'm fairly sure, you thanked her enough by testifying and keeping her out of Askaban." Harry felt really good at that. He wanted to bask in the softness of Draco's words and expression. Hoping Draco would stay in the mood he decided to ask about something Hermione informed him some time ago.

"When did your father got out?" Harry wasn't sure he liked the thought of Lucius Malfoy wandering magical streets and dispersing some more or less deadly artefacts.

"Two years ago."

Harry growled. In retrospect he should have known it wasn't a safe conversation topic between them. "He only served two years? What about the other twenty-three years he deserved?"

Harry quickly regretted his outburst. A shadow crossed Draco and he changed to his colder personality instantly.

"No Malfoy deserves to stay longer than two years at a hideous place as Askaban the second time around." The undercurrent of his snobbish statement was grieved and Harry patted him on the back like he would have done with Ron. Strangely it calmed him down considerably, too.

"I'll try to find out who you bribed to get him out tomorrow by reading the Prophet." Harry tried to soothe the blonde man, still rubbing circles on his back and marvelling at the feeling of rough skin sticking on the soft material of Draco's shirt.

Draco snorted and relaxed under Harry's warm hand, deadpanning: "That's easy. Look on page 6, there is always a chart of the people I corrupt. And stop destroying my shirt with your calloused hands, plebeian."

Harry laughed, although he wondered how great the hint of truth in the former statement was. A little nervous he tried to play along. "So tomorrow I'll find my name in there, too? A mere plebeian like me?" He searched for a glimpse of deception mapping the face of the quite beautiful man.

Draco stared back, a slow predatory smile spreading from his lips to his eyes. "You are far too important to be less than on the first page, oh Chosen One." A shiver run down Harry's back starting with a tingle on his shoulder-blades getting icy cold right above his bottom. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion behind it. He felt like prey, however he certainly didn't want to flee, but instead stay. He felt good, really good.