"Bloody hell mate, Malfoy, though?" Ron said from across the small table, Hermione frowning at Harry from beside him.

"I know" Harry sighed, taking a sip of his tea. The three friends were sitting around the kitchen table in Ron and Hermione's flat, Harry catching them up on the details of his recent trip to the ministry.

"Harry, you know what I'm going to say." Hermione said, looking at him sternly.

He smiled ruefully, he did.

"You may as well say it 'Mione" Ron said, waving a hand, "we both know you want to."

After a brief moment of deliberation with pursed lips, Hermione finally said, "you rushed into this Harry, you need to think more." The shared grin between Harry and Ron was not lost on her. "Both of you" she added.

"I admit that I might have been a bit hasty" Harry admitted at last, "I honestly didn't know they could even do something like that."

"Well, it certainly hasn't been used in ages," Hermione said with a slight frown.

"Guess you were the perfect test case to bring it back, aye mate," Ron chuckled, raising his mug at him.

Harry felt a tensing in his stomach, but let it go, pushing it off as discomfort at his situation.

"I'm sorry mate, but I don't think Malfoy's gonna be welcome at the Burrow for Sunday dinners," Ron continued, Harry bracing himself against the slight pain that flared in his stomach once more. "Ginny and George would hex the shite out of him."

Hermione clucked her tongue, "language, Ron."

"Sorry," Ron said hastily, ears flushing red as he shot an amused glance at Harry.

Harry smiled at them fondly, they really did suit each other.

"You alright mate?" Ron asked, noting the pinched expression on Harry's face now.

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a bit nauseous. He got up, intending to make his way to the sink for a glass of water, only he must have stood up too quick because the last thing he noted as the room spun around him was Hermione's panicked cry and the tile floor rising up to meet him.

-x-x-x-

Bloody fucking Potter was Draco's last thought as he collapsed in front of the fireplace, floo powder spilling from his hand.

-x-x-x-

Harry felt like he'd been hit by the Hogwarts's Express as he slowly made his way back to consciousness. The dim lighting in his bedroom felt blinding.

The faint stirring beside him made him shoot up, wincing as the sharp movement only made things so much worse.

Peering blearily through heavy eyelids, he got a brief glimpse of Draco's prone body resting beside him on his four-poster bed.

"It's about time you got up" Harry heard from the corner of the room. Craning his neck, he could just barely make out Ron sitting in the chair he must have dragged into the room by the foot of the bed.

"What's going on?" Harry croaked.

"You've been out for a day," Ron said with a sigh, and it was only then that Harry noted that Ron was indeed wearing a different set of clothes.

It was then that he looked down at himself.

Ron barked a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "Don't worry, I didn't let Hermione undress you, even if you would have been more comfortable in pajamas."

Harry appreciated that, at least.

"So, what happened?" he asked, reaching out for the glass of water that was usually on his bedside table.

Knowing what he was looking for, Ron stood and carried one of the two glasses of water on his dresser over to Harry, handing it to him with a concerned expression on his face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like Voldemort came back."

Ron frowned at him, apparently not as amused by Harry's sense of humor as Harry was.

"Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Hermione says it has something to do with the bond. She said, aside from the usual 'you boys never think' and 'should have read up' blah blah blah, that with these kinds of bonds the bonded pair can't be that far away from each other and not for long or your bodies react. So, you passed out, and when we took you back here, Malfoy was passed out too. It looked like he had been trying to get to the floo to find you."

"Oh God, you mean Malfoy knew what was happening and I didn't?" Harry asked, mortified.

"Because I, unlike you, Potter," Malfoy croaked out, "know what I get myself into. Or, rather, what you got me into."

"Nice to see you haven't changed Malfoy," Ron said with a bitter smile, grudgingly handing him the second glass of water that Malfoy promptly chugged. Ron eyed him, "You look like shite."

Draco snorted, not even bothering to look up at the comment, "Same to you, the only difference is my appearance can change with rest and a shower, yours is a birthright."

"You little-"

"Ron," Harry sighed, glad his voice was back to normal, "don't, it's not worth it. And I'm sure he didn't mean it, we're both just tired, right?" Harry said, casting a meaningful look at Draco.

Draco ignored him, instead peeling the covers from himself and moving to stand.

Ron laughed as Draco's legs nearly collapsed from under him, having to grab onto the bedframe with a death grip to keep himself upright.

"Hermione says you might need to rest for a little bit," Ron said, directing his comment at Harry, not Draco.

"I think we're rested enough," Harry said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and making to stand, though much more cautiously than Draco had. "Besides, I have that. . ." his eyes slid over to Draco in the most peculiar way, "meeting tomorrow night at the Three Broomsticks, and now I've got to figure out how I'm going to make it with this bloody bond."

Ron looked puzzled for a moment before a flash of recognition lit his eyes.

"What meeting?" Draco asked, not liking being left out of the loop.

Harry wouldn't meet his eyes, and, if Draco squinted, he was sure he could make out the faint traces of a blush lighting Harry's ears.

"Just a meeting with a friend," he shrugged off, before he snapped his fingers, an idea coming to him. "Say, Malfoy-er-Draco, is there anyone you'd fancy seeing in Hogsmeade?"

-x-x-x-

"Bloody hell" Goyle said, trying to hold back a chuckle.

Draco glared at him, but with no real malice. Draco had flooed Gregory earlier that day to ask if he'd like to meet at the Three Broomsticks while Harry had his own mystery meeting.

Draco's eyes darted to the corner of the pub, watching Harry shrewdly as he waited for his associate. Much to Draco's surprise when he had met Harry in the living room to aparate, the brunette had changed clothes into something quite, well, flattering. He wore tight gray trousers with a burgundy sweater that complemented him astonishingly well. It was surprising. Even his typically unruly hair looked stylishly tussled as compared to its usual bird's nest state. Just who was Potter trying to impress?

"It could be worse," Gregory continued, and Draco refocused his attention back on the man before him.

Goyle was one of the few friends Draco had maintained since Hogwarts. And, one of the even fewer friends that wasn't currently imprisoned in Azkaban, on the run, or on house arrest. After the battle, he had been one of the few friends that had reached out to Draco, mainly over a shared loss of Vincent and the need to find someone to commiserate in mourning with, but also for the desperate need to have some emotional connection after the turmoil of the final battle.

While it didn't look like it to most, what with the way Draco appeared to be the ringleader of the Slytherins and Goyle one of his mere cronies, Gregory was one of his oldest, and closest friends. He didn't speak much, and that meant that he had heard all of Draco's problems he had divulged to him in order to fill the silence. Goyle's steady, and sometimes obtuse, presence was one that had always been there to support Draco even when he didn't think he needed it, and for that, he was always grateful of his friend.

"You know," Draco said with a hint of a wry smile, "everyone keeps saying that. But I'm starting to think a few months in Azkaban would be better than a year of this. But, please, let's not talk about this anymore, how have you been?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Gregory's face, "well," he said, taking a long sip of his drink, "Pansy invited me over for tea later this week, and, with Nott still on the run in Albania, I think she and him are through."

A single, blond eyebrow quirked. "Do you honestly mean to tell me that you're still infatuated with her?" Draco asked, shocked and disgusted.

Gregory shrugged, "She's an amazing woman."

The distaste was evident on his face, "she's a pain and doesn't know the meaning of minding one's own business." To be fair, Pansy was one of Draco's closest friends, even if they couldn't agree on anything, but that didn't mean he had any pretenses that she would be anything less than hell to date.

Goyle ignored him, instead, nodding his head over in Harry's direction. "Who's that bloke?"

Trying not to appear too obvious, Draco carefully slid his gaze back over to Harry's table. Harry had stood to greet his visitor, giving him a brief hug before motioning for him to sit. It was quite odd, Draco thought, the way they had hugged. It wasn't the familiar and warm hug of old friends, but it did give off a certain type of intimacy.

The man was nearly a foot taller than Harry, and had biceps the size of his head. He wore a tight shirt with the Chudley Cannon's logo emblazoned on the front and tight jeans. He didn't look like anyone Draco had ever seen and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what kind of meeting Harry would be having with him.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Goyle's eyes suddenly widened. "You didn't tell me Potter was on a date."

"What?" Draco said, turning to face Harry and opening his mouth in preparation of telling Gregory not to be so much of an idiot. But the words died in his throat because it appeared, much to his shock, that Harry was, in fact, on a date.

The man was leaning in closer than usual to Harry, a hand placed casually on his arm and Harry didn't seem in any hurry to shake it off. His smile actually seemed inviting. And yes, Draco noted as he glanced down beneath their table, the man seemed to be trying to get his foot to run up Harry's calf, though Harry deftly dodged the attempt before he could make contact, smile never leaving his features.

"Bloody hell, I never would have figured Potter for a bender." Gregory chuckled, bringing his drink to his lips before quickly lowering it, "oh, sorry mate," he added at Draco's withering look. If looks could kill, Greg would be six feet in the ground already.

Draco had made no secret of his sexual preferences, stating quite clearly that he exclusively desired the company of men after the numerous inquiries into his desire to marry and carry on a pureblood line following the war. Draco had politely but firmly rebuffed them all, stating that if he was concerned about bringing up a new generation of purebloods, he could always open his doors to adoption. Merlin knew there were quite a lot of orphaned purebloods after the war, what with their parents having slowly been driven insane at Voldemort's or his aunt Bellatrix's hands or dead from the war or ministry's post-war round up.

The site was fascinating, but also gave Draco a bitter taste in his mouth. If he didn't know any better he might have called the emotion jealousy. But that was absurd. Harry might have grown more attractive since their Hogwarts days, but Draco didn't want him. Surely not. Perhaps it was his inner child still longing for the friendship with Harry he had been denied. . .

Draco didn't have a chance to go into his inner musings too deeply because he suddenly felt the chilling sensation of the hairs on his neck standing on end. It was the familiar feeling he had grown accustomed to his sixth year of Hogwarts, the feeling of being watched.

"What is it mate?" Greg asked, noticing the sudden tense to Draco's demeanor.

Draco didn't answer for a moment, eyes darting around over the rim of his glass as he took a drink, making sure his hand did not shake.

After a long moment, noting a man in the corner who hid behind his copy of the Daily Prophet but was doing a poor job of hiding his glances at Draco and Harry, and the woman making too much of an attempt to look casual as she leaned against the bar.

"I think I'm being watched."

To his credit and Draco's appreciation, Gregory didn't immediately whip his head around to look, which Draco was sure Weasley or Granger would have done had Harry said such a thing.

"I think you're right," Greg said, sounding nonchalant. "There's a man to your right, he's just staring, not even touching his food. "Who do you reckon it is?"

Draco thought for a moment before realization dawned on him. A flash of irritation crossed his features and he just barely managed to restrain his lip from curling.

"It's the ministry, checking to see if I'm doting on Potter like a good little servant."

Gregory recoiled in disgust, and Draco was for a moment overwhelmed with appreciation for his friend. "You think they're waiting to arrest you?"

He pursed his lips, "Maybe, but perhaps I can still salvage this."

"Wait, you mean going over and waiting on Potter?"

Draco nodded grimly, "What other choice do I have?"

Gregory inclined his head in agreement, Draco was right, there was no other choice really. Except for Azkaban of course.

"I'll see you later Greg," Draco said, standing and ignoring the three sets of eyes that followed his movements.

Gregory looked up at him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "See you mate, good luck."

Draco nodded. Knowing that Gregory would restrain himself from watching Draco's utter humiliation at least helped.

With stiff steps, he made his way over to Harry's table. Both Harry and his date looked up, Harry confused and his date more than a little shocked. No, not shocked, repulsed. Draco ignored it, he was used to that reaction from people.

"Draco," Harry said hesitantly, "is everything alright?"

"Bugger off Malfoy, don't you have some Death Eater business to get to?" His date said in a thickly Irish accent. Draco ignored him entirely, but Harry frowned at the man.

Draco glanced at Harry's half eaten meal, "You looked done with your meal Potter, I was going to take your plates for you."

Harry looked absolutely befuddled, "What are you talking about?"

"He's playing at something, obviously," Harry's date said.

Draco took a deep breath through his nose and counted to three before bending over and taking Harry's plate, sweeping the small number of crumbs that had fallen onto the table onto the plate with a napkin.

"Just doing my servantly duty," Draco said lightly, giving Harry a meaningful look.

"I told you, that's not-"

One look from Draco silenced him, but Harry was still clearly confused.

Ignoring him, Draco swept away to the counter, making a point to stand next to the ministry official while feigning ignorance of who she was.

"Can I have a wet cloth please," Draco asked Madame Rosmerta, Potter would like me to clean his table."

Madame Rosmerta and the ministry official both raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Madame Rosmerta handed him a cloth without comment.

"Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?" Harry's date asked when he'd returned, wiping off their table.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Stop being so obtuse Potter," Draco said beneath his breath, so quietly that not even Harry's date could hear him. "Do you ever get that feeling that someone's watching you, it's rather unpleasant, isn't it. " Draco said, meeting emerald eyes with his own. He kept his words deliberately vague on the off chance that they were being listened to with a charm. "I'm just doing my job," Draco said, at conversational level now as he stood.

Harry blinked at him, trying to puzzle out his words before dawning seemed to come to him. He was a lot less subtle than Gregory when his eyes swept the room, but he was more subtle than Draco had expected.

"I think . . . Brad, that we have to cut this short. I'm not feeling well so I think I should go home, maybe have Draco make me some soup or something."

Draco bristled at the offhand reference to him serving Harry but hid it well.

"What," Brad said, mouth gaping open in a rather unflattering imitation of a fish.

"I thought we were having fun?"

Harry nodded slowly, "we are, but, I'm not feeling well," Harry reiterated, standing.

Brad glared at Draco. Draco was nonplussed. He had been given stronger looks from portraits.

"What kind of hex did you put on him then?"

"Excuse me?" Draco said, laughing breathlessly in utter astonishment. Of all the things the man could have said, he hadn't expected something quite so stupid.

"Death Eaters don't change, so what'd you do?" he said, standing, hand reaching for his wand.

Draco's fingers twitched but he didn't move, confident enough in his wandless magic abilities. He did, however, see Gregory tense out of the corner of his eye and Harry move to grab for his wand.

"Brad, he didn't do anything to me," Harry said calmly, but with an edge to his voice. "We're leaving now."

Harry's date looked absolutely offended, before a stony mask of contempt took hold of his features and he sniffed, "Fine, suit yourself." Then, motioning to the table with one sweeping motion, "aren't you going to pay, you are the great Harry Potter afterall."

Harry looked absolutely repulsed, and Draco felt equally disgusted.

Reaching into his pockets, Harry pulled out a pouch and dumped a few galleons out onto his palm, before tossing them onto the table. "There," Harry said, his voice glacial, before he turned to Draco, muttering under his breath, "let's go."

Wordlessly, Draco followed him outside, past the ministry official at the counter and ignoring the other two watching their progress.

Once outside in the cool night air, Harry turned to him.

"So, they're watching us."

Draco nodded slowly, "it would appear so."

"How many were there?"

"Three from my count."

Harry frowned, running a hand down his face, "great, just great. And I didn't even notice."

For some reason, Draco felt the need to offer some comfort. He shrugged, "don't beat yourself up too much, you were busy." Then, after a beat, "I'm sorry for interfering with your date. It was a date, I'm assuming?"

Harry laughed, a loud bark of a laugh that startled Draco, "You saw him, he was a royal twat. And yes, it was a date. I'm gay" he rolled his eyes and waved a hand, "feel free to give an exclusive to Rita Skeeter."

"I wouldn't go near that woman with a ten foot poll" Draco scoffed. "And, I don't care, one of the small things we have in common, I guess."

Harry was surprised, but hid it well. He shrugged, "Anyways, I'm glad to get rid of him. It started off well enough, then throughout the whole thing, he kept asking me about how I defeated Voldemort" Draco was proud of himself for not flinching at the name, "and what my plans were. Whether I was going to run for a ministry position, what'd I'd do with my fame."

It was then, that a thought struck Draco. "What do you do, for work I mean?"

"I'm a consulting Auror, they call me in for cases that have to do with experimental magic since I've got a lot of experience with it, what between Voldemort, speaking parseltongue, being the tale of prophecies and whatnot. It's quite fun, and I don't have to deal with all the red tape."

Draco was surprised, and, loathe as he was to admit it, impressed. "I didn't know such a job existed."

"It didn't, and, officially, it doesn't." Harry grinned. Draco couldn't help It and found himself grinning back.

Harry was surprised at the response but found a warm feeling of pleasure fill his stomach. He ignored it, clearing his throat. "Ready to head back?"

Draco nodded, taking the crook of Harry's arm firmly and ignoring the thrill that surged through his body as Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders and apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.

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