Friday, December 15, 2006

Malfoy made it back to work, mainly because he had been coerced by Harry into attending even though it was a single day before the weekend, and also the day before the Ministry Holiday Gala. To Malfoy's shock, and possible horror, Tim Clark had decorated his tiny office with a Welcome Back! theme. Colourful streamers, balloons, and confetti-bearing bubbles wafted about the room.

"I am not going in there," Malfoy said adamantly upon opening the door.

Harry laughed. "Oh, yes, you are."

Malfoy shook his head, but before he could protest again the matter was taken out of his hands. A small crowd pushed him from the corridor and into the decorated space. Vic ushered Malfoy to his chair while Tim beamed and Levitated a tray of champagne-filled glasses onto the desk. Rocco looked almost pleased and smirked while sprawling into the only guest chair.

"There is a bit of orange juice in here," Tim commented as he passed out glasses. "So it qualifies as breakfast. Welcome back, Draco."

Malfoy glared at Harry, as if the entire event was his fault, but he took the glass Tim held out to him with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Thank you. This really wasn't necessary."

"Yes, it was. You're part of the team and we… well, mostly I, have been arses and… Well, it's time we made it up to you. Three cheers for Draco!" Tim lifted his glass and cried, "Hip hip hoorah!"

The other picked up the cry, including Harry, who could not resist smirking at the mortified look on Malfoy's face when they all repeated the shout.

They all drank and then Malfoy got to his feet and picked up his own drink. Silence reigned for a moment and then Malfoy said, "I could kill you all." Harry cringed and wondered if the others would take him seriously, but then Malfoy grinned and added, "But thank you."

Tim actually rounded the desk and clapped Malfoy on the shoulder as the others laughed. Several passers-by paused to stare inside curiously. Brady invited them in for a drink and soon Malfoy's tiny office was full to bursting with well-wishers. Most of them had doubtless been drawn in by the promise of alcohol, but at least it was a start.

Harry moved into a corner and sipped at his drink while watching the festivities. The others had surrounded Malfoy and most of the room began arguing Quidditch strategy. Tim Clark's hand rested protectively on Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy's eyes lifted and met Harry's; amusement sparkled between them before a newcomer shoved his way forwards and welcomed Malfoy back in a way that seemed almost sincere. Vic began the tale of Malfoy's wounding anew.

My team, Harry thought proudly.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Harry tugged at his tie for the fifteenth time and wished he knew a spell to keep the bloody thing from flopping sideways. Whose bright idea had it been for him to wear a bow tie, anyway? Oh yes, Hermione's. He shot her a glare from across the room, but she was in a discussion with Kingsley that involved much arm-flailing and drink waving (and probably featured house-elves or goblins) and did not notice him. Harry quickly looked away before Ron caught his eye. Harry did not want to be blamed for aiding and abetting in Ron's escape.

Harry turned away and saw a gleam of silver-blond hair. His heart leapt into his throat before he realized it belonged to the wife of someone in Magical Games and Sports. Harry grabbed a drink from a nearby floating tray and told himself he was not disappointed. He wasn't disappointed at all, and yet, where was Malfoy? He had promised he would come.

"Looking for someone?" a familiar voice asked. Harry turned to smile at Vic, but found himself gaping at her instead. She was clad in a skin-hugging red dress that sparkled when she moved and showed off attributes Harry wouldn't have guessed at. She laughed at him. "Why, thank you, Harry. I haven't made anyone speechless in quite some time, although I doubt it will work on Brady. He is ridiculously oblivious."

"That seems to be a common condition," Harry muttered.

"You, too, eh?" she asked. She took a glass from a tray and held it towards Harry. "To clarity," she said.

Harry laughed at the strange toast. "To clarity!" he echoed and clinked his glass against hers. They drank together and then Harry nearly choked on his drink because another head of blond hair caught his eye and this time it was directly above a pair of smirking grey eyes.

Harry lowered his glass and prepared to smile, until his gaze was drawn to the woman at Malfoy's side. She looked elegant and polished and every inch an excellent match for Malfoy. The drink Harry had consumed suddenly tasted like dust.

"I see Malfoy made it," Vic said.

"Do you know that woman with him?" Harry asked, hoping she didn't notice the odd sound of his voice.

"That's Astoria Greengrass. Really, Harry, you should come to these things more often. Astoria is the prized pony of the Greengrass stable. Her sister Daphne is rather plain. She'll have trouble snaring a proper pure-blood husband, but Astoria…. Well, you can see for yourself."

Harry did, all the while wishing she were anywhere other than hanging on Draco Malfoy's arm. He barely had time to plaster a smile on his face before she and Malfoy were in front of him.

"Harry Potter," Astoria said smoothly and held out a delicate hand. She smiled, but it seemed about as genuine as Harry's, all teeth and little warmth. Her eyes were pale blue, like shards of ice. "How lovely to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you. Honestly, Draco hardly speaks of anything else."

Harry took her hand, to find it warm and limp, like a damp washcloth. He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to shake it or kiss it. He glanced at Malfoy, to find the man smirking at him. The familiar expression steadied Harry's nerves.

"Oh, really?" Harry asked and allowed his smile to become warm and genuine. Malfoy looked stunning. He was dressed in black, his expensive-looking robes buttoned up tightly, a beautiful package to contain the explosive passion Harry suspected lurked within. The sudden need to unbutton him was nearly overwhelming.

"Are you all right, Potter?" Malfoy asked in an amused tone. The unrelenting black of his outfit was broken only by a white lace cravat at his throat, set off with a single diamond brooch that sparkled with each bit of light that hit it.

"I'm fine," Harry replied, thinking that Draco's eyes sparkled more than the diamond.

"Then why are you still holding Astoria's hand?"

"Oh!" Harry's attention snapped back to the woman and he released her hand as if burned. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm pants at this etiquette business." He winced at his own words. "See what I mean?"

Her smile became even more brittle and her eyes flashed. Harry barely noticed, because Malfoy laughed and the sound washed over him, warm and heady. Harry nearly winced at the sensation and the sinking feeling that followed. Malfoy was here with his lovely, socially-suitable pinnacle of pure-blooded culture, class, and elegance, and Harry was utterly, utterly fucked.

"Very amusing, Mr Potter," Astoria said in a tone that was anything but.

"I need another drink," Harry muttered. Vic obligingly took one from a passing tray and handed it to him. He gulped it gratefully and tried not to spill any on himself.

"You look ravishing tonight, Victoria," Malfoy said. "Where is your fortunate date?"

Vic snorted. "You are an insincere charmer, Malfoy, but thank you. Brady couldn't be arsed to escort me, so I'm meeting him here. I'll most likely find him under the mistletoe with some floozy."

"There's mistletoe?" Harry asked, glancing around warily. The event was held every year at a different location. This year the Ministry had utilized a mansion belonging to a former Wizengamot member. She had died without issue and left the place to some foundation that wanted Ministry backing. Harry couldn't quite recall their agenda—something about the fabric trade. Hermione had grilled him on it, but her job was magical rules and regulations; politics bored Harry witless

Regardless, the place was enormous and beautiful.

Malfoy chuckled again. "Hoping to get kissed, Potter? I assume you came with the Weas—with Ginevra?"

Harry nodded and nudged his chin towards Ginny, who seemed quite friendly with Michael Corner. He no longer wondered why the sight of them together didn't bother him. Malfoy followed his gaze and then looked back with one eyebrow lifted. Harry grimaced, not wanting to see the questions there. His relationship with Ginny, or lack thereof, was not a topic for discussion, especially in the company of Astoria Greengrass, who had already wrapped her perfect nails around Malfoy's arm and was tugging at him.

"Oh, there is the Minister. Do let us go and say good evening, Draco."

Without a word to Vic and only a disdainful glance at Harry, Astoria pulled Malfoy away. Harry's hand shot out to grip his other arm and he impulsively leaned close, trying not to breathe in Malfoy's scent as he spoke. "I'm glad you could make it," Harry murmured. His attempt at being suave was ruined when Vic bumped into him from behind, knocking him face first into Malfoy's neck. Harry's lips dragged over Malfoy's skin and the mingled odours of his cologne, shampoo, and soap assailed Harry's senses with the force of a bludgeon. His hand tightened on Malfoy's arm as he righted himself.

"Brady, you arse, are you drunk already?" he heard Vic ask, and then his eyes locked with Malfoy's.

"Thank you," Malfoy returned and then he was gone, the tug-of-war going to Astoria as Harry loosed his hold and let him go.

Harry downed two more drinks on his way to Ginny. She frowned at him admonishingly. "Harry, if you keep that up you won't make it home."

"Someone will make sure I get home," Harry replied, trying not to sound bitter when he realized the only person he wanted to see him home was not on that list of someones.

"Yes, probably me or Hermione," she said dryly. "Have you… seen anyone interesting?"

He managed not to look over at Malfoy, who was chatting with Kingsley whilst Astoria laughed too-loudly at something. Despite her beauty, she had a harsh laugh that sounded forced. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Not really."

Ginny sighed. "Time is ticking, Harry."

He scowled at her. "I know!"

She rolled her eyes and looked at Michael, who was obviously confused by their strange conversation. "Harry has a few more months to find and fall in love with someone else, otherwise we're getting back together," she explained.

Michael blinked at her. "But… you are together."

She shook her head. "Not really. I could probably go home with you tonight and Harry wouldn't bat an eye, would you, Harry?"

"That's not fair, Gin," Harry said, still scowling, but he knew she was right. The thought of Ginny kissing Michael Corner, even sleeping with him, left him feeling nothing but residual guilt, whereas the thought of Draco Malfoy cuddling up to that… woman… He shoved down a sickening feeling of panic and lifted his glass to his lips, only to find it empty.

Ginny moved closer and put her arm around his waist. "Hey! You're right. It's not fair of me to poke fun. I know you've been trying." She leaned even closer and spoke in a low tone that only he could hear. "I do sort of like Michael, though. I wanted to see if you were going to get jealous if I spent some time with him. And, well, you obviously aren't."

Harry sighed and realized there wasn't enough alcohol in the world for what ailed him. Why couldn't he simply want Ginny? She was beautiful and smart and had the same interests. Everyone they knew fully supported their relationship. It would be so much easier to just… fake it.

He heard Malfoy's laugh from across the room, and the sound of it seemed to cut through his soul. No, living with Ginny in a picture-perfect but utterly unsatisfying game of role-play would be cruel to both of them in the long run.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She pulled away and nodded before smiling at him. "I just want you to be happy, Harry."

"I know. I want that for you, too."

"Um… I think I need a drink," Michael said. Ginny looped her arm through his.

"Great idea. Let's go and look at that fountain. I'm sure it contains some sort of liquor. Let's test it out, shall we?" she said.

Michael looked uncertainly at Harry, who nodded at him encouragingly. As the couple walked away, Harry knew it was over forever between him and Ginny. She had mentioned Harry's "time limit", but even if he hadn't found someone by the end of their agreed-upon deadline, he knew it was done. Harry wanted someone who made his blood pound at a mere touch, someone who made him feel alive just by being in the same room. He wanted Draco Malfoy.

A glance across the room made that seem a ridiculous impossibility. Astoria laughed and leaned close to Malfoy, swaying into him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The silver gown she wore complimented her icy beauty and Malfoy's black robes. They looked amazing together.

Harry grabbed another drink, pushed his way through the crowd, and escaped to the garden, hoping the cold night air would ease the ache in his chest.

xx*xx*xx

Malfoy found him there an hour later. Harry was amusing himself by plucking the petals from winter roses; he had accumulated quite a pile of them at his feet. He barely glanced up when Malfoy sat on the bench next to him.

"She loves you not?" Malfoy guessed as the next petal fell from Harry's fingers.

"Just the opposite, I think."

"Really? She seems pretty cosy with Michael Corner in there." Malfoy's tone was guarded, as if he were reluctant to begin an argument.

Harry snorted. "That's not her fault; it's mine."

Malfoy said nothing to that and Harry plucked petals until he held another barren stem. He dropped it. "Your glass is empty," Malfoy commented finally.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. It had been empty for some time, but he hadn't felt like braving the bright room—and Astoria Greengrass—in order to collect a refill. His time in the cold air had sobered him somewhat, but seemed to have increased his bleak attitude. He should probably have gone home.

"Want some of mine?" Malfoy asked and handed over a tumbler half-full of something dark that might have been amber-coloured. It was difficult to tell in the muted light from the fairy lights in the trees overhead. Harry accepted the glass.

He took a drink, trying not to think about Malfoy's mouth occupying the same spot on the rim, and failed; the burn of the alcohol was nothing next to the heat of his own disgust. He gave back the glass. "Astoria Greengrass, eh?" Harry asked and then thought wondered about a spell that would extract one's own tongue.

Malfoy made a noncommittal sound and took a drink of the Firewhisky. "My father would approve, don't you think?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "No doubt."

"But you don't?"

"I'm sure my opinion counts as next to nothing with you."

"Then you would be wrong."

Harry turned to stare at Malfoy, shocked. "What?"

"You don't like Astoria, do you?"

"I… I don't even know her."

"You don't have to know someone to dislike them. Tell me why."

Harry was baffled by the conversation. What possible reason could Malfoy have for seeking Harry's opinion of his date, or girlfriend, or whatever she was? Still, Malfoy had asked, and Harry was just drunk enough not to ponder the consequences for long.

"Fine. She seems mean, and self-absorbed, and fake. She has about as much genuine warmth as that diamond you're wearing, and when she smiles it never reaches her eyes. She has an agenda that can be spotted a mile away and if she cared at all for another human being I would be astonished to see it." Harry clamped his jaw shut with effort and looked away. He kicked at the pile of rose petals at his feet, scattering them. "Sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have asked."

Malfoy made a humming noise and took another drink.

"Are you going to marry her?" Harry asked and then made a stern mental note to bring some Ton-Tongue Toffee next time he planned to be near Malfoy so that he couldn't speak.

"I don't know," Malfoy replied and leaned forwards until his elbows rested on his knees. The glass dangled from his long fingers. "I should."

"You should?" Harry echoed.

"Yes. I have certain obligations. As a Malfoy."

Only the bitterness in his tone kept Harry from making a scathing retort. In a rush, Narcissa Malfoy's words came back to Harry. Draco strongly feels the need to live up to his father's standards, more so now than he had while Lucius lived. It is a pity, at times. I think it keeps him from being truly happy. His father's standards. The truth settled over Harry like a blanket, warming him far more than the Charm he'd cast earlier. Draco did not want Astoria.

"You don't like her, either," Harry said flatly.

"Of course I don't like her. That isn't the point."

"What is the point, then? Your obligations as a Malfoy? Are you referring to the obligation to marry a woman you dislike? The obligation to parade around like the perfect couple when everyone knows it's a farce? The obligation to produce even more Malfoys to be as bloody miserable as the rest of you?" Oh fuck. Shut up, Harry. Shut up, shut up.

Malfoy sat up stiffly and glared at him.

"Fuck you, Potter. What do you know about it?"

Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but sharp footsteps forestalled his comment.

"There you are, Draco. Why are you sitting out here in the dark? I've been looking for you everywhere." Astoria's words were light enough, but the annoyance beneath them was palpable. Malfoy might have been sitting alone on the bench for all the attention she paid Harry.

"Just having a difference of opinion with Potter," Malfoy said and got to his feet. Harry longed to reach out and hold him in place, to try and explain. He felt near-panicked at the thought he had lost the camaraderie they had so recently gained. Having Malfoy as a friend was so much better than having him as an enemy. Harry would just have to get past this foolish crush and let Malfoy live his life as he chose.

"Draco, wait," Harry said and stood up as Malfoy moved to join Astoria.

Malfoy paused, visibly startled at the name, but did not turn to face Harry.

"I'm sorry. It's not my place to approve or disapprove. You have to do what you feel is best. I just... I care about you." The words spilled out in a rush. Malfoy did turn then, and blinked at him through wide eyes. Harry felt a momentary sense of relief at having said it, especially when Astoria's face twisted.

Malfoy's hard stare softened and a brief smile curved his lips. "Thank you, Potter. I will see you at work on Monday. Goodnight."

Astoria plastered herself to Malfoy's side and they walked away. Harry watched with a sinking feeling as he replayed Malfoy's words. At work on Monday. The words, while friendly enough, had effectively banned Harry from going to the Manor, as had been his recent habit.

Harry was not forgiven.

xx*xx*xx

Harry did not even bother to say goodbye to Hermione and Ron, which he knew would earn him some harsh words later. He simply Apparated home, took off his uncomfortable dress robes, and sprawled on his sofa in nothing but his pants. He mulled the conversation with Malfoy over and over in his head, and always came back to the conclusion that he should have kept his bloody mouth shut.

Monday seemed a long time away.

Harry stared at the ceiling for a long while and debated getting up to fix himself a drink, even though his stomach rebelled at the idea, apparently deciding he'd had enough.

He pushed away thoughts of his heated conversation with Malfoy and instead remembered how Malfoy had looked, so elegant and at ease in surroundings that had made Harry want to crawl out of his own skin to escape. They were so different, the two of them. Like night and day. Malfoy was better off with his ice maiden. They were from the same world.

Although, Harry decided, Malfoy Manor was part of Draco's world and it wasn't so bad. In fact, it had grown on Harry now that he'd spent some time there. He liked the long chestnut-wood hallway on the third floor, and the marble sink, floor and columns in the bathroom nearest the dining room. And Draco's rooms were quite nice, even his strange water-reminiscent office.

Harry groaned and sat up, realizing he was not going to stop thinking about Draco—Malfoy. Oh hell, he might as well give up the fight and let him be Draco. It was getting harder and harder to think of him in less than familiar terms.

Harry decided to go to bed, but once in his room he noticed the window was open a crack. Permanent Heating Charms kept the room from getting cold, so he frequently opened the window to admit fresh night air and then forgot to shut it again.

A scattering of stars caught his eye as he moved to close the window and he was seized with a sudden desire to fly. He debated less than half a second before he Disapparated, changing into his Animagus form the moment his feet touched the ground. A vigorous flapping of wings took him across the Malfoy estate until he saw the familiar form of the broom shed.

Light spilled out from the open door and he realized someone was inside. Probably Narcissa, since Draco was likely still at the party. Harry flew down to investigate, and landed inside the circle of light. Draco was just closing the gate on one of the cages. Harry's movement must have caught his eye, for he turned and stared at him for a moment. Harry considered taking wing, but he was frozen in place at the sight.

Draco was shirtless.

Harry had never fully appreciated the acuity of his falcon-vision before. He had enjoyed being able to see without the benefit of spectacles, but this was something else. He could see every tiny nuance of Draco's skin, from the nearly-invisible hair on his arms to three tiny, almost-healed scratches on his wrist. A faint white line began near one shoulder and crossed his chest in a diagonal, ending on his abdomen. Harry should not have felt human emotions in his falcon form, but he did; he was no falcon, but a human being in a feathered body.

"Came back, did you? Well, let's see, then. Did your previous master train you before your escape?" Draco lifted his arm, offering Harry a perch if he were brave enough to take it.

Harry thought the alcohol had departed his system when he'd changed, but perhaps not, since he impulsively took wing and landed lightly upon Draco's forearm. Draco wore no protective leather, so Harry was careful not to dig his talons in, although he had to flap his wings a bit to keep his balance.

Draco reached up to carefully stroke his breast. "Well, well," he said. "Aren't you the brave one? Pretty Eroe."

Harry steadied himself and found that Draco was even more interesting up close. His eyelashes weren't blond, but a curious mixture of pale and dark gold, and the irises of his eyes were flecked with darker specks that Harry had never noticed before. The arm that rose before him bore the remains of a Dark Mark, the ugly lines faded to charcoal, but a still-stark reminder of harsher times.

Draco's breath reeked of alcohol, however, and he seemed unsteady, swaying in place.

In a swift movement that made Harry emit a startled squawk, Draco shifted Harry so that his wings were trapped beneath Draco's arm, clutched tightly against his ribcage. A leather hood was quickly tugged over Harry's head, blinding him. The human side of him felt instantly alarmed while the falcon portion went docile. It was a curious internal battle.

"I can't leave you out here, Eroe," Draco said. "I've no spare mews and if I put you in with one of the others, they'll likely tear you to pieces. I'll decide what to do with you in the morning."

Harry heard Draco cast the spells to shut off the lights and lock the door, and then the crunching of his footsteps on the path. He staggered a time or two, making Harry's heart race while he waited for them both to crash to the ground. Draco recovered both times, however, and marched onward. Harry knew the way, so it was with no surprise that he heard the door to Draco's chambers open and close.

Harry was carefully lifted and his feet dragged over something wooden until he instinctively opened his claws. He clung to the unseen perch, feeling unsteady in the darkness. Draco released his wings and he flapped to maintain his balance.

"Good, Eroe," Draco said. "You just stay right there until morning. I'll be right over here wondering why Harry Potter's disapproval makes me want to smash things." His voice receded a bit and Harry heard him add, "Quietly smash things. In the morning."

Then Harry heard nothing more, so he set about removing the hood from his head. Luckily, Draco had not pulled the lacings tight, so repeated rubbing of Harry's head against his wings helped to dislodge it. He tried to use his talons once and nearly toppled off the perch.

After Harry suppressed many curses for fear they would come out as piercing falcon shrieks, the hood finally parted ways with Harry's head. Never had he so appreciated having hands.

He blinked into the darkened room and his night-vision quickly adjusted to the meagre light falling through the open curtains. Draco was sprawled across his bed, still half-clothed and apparently asleep, or unconscious. Harry flew over cautiously and landed on the bed near Draco's head, ready to fly if he moved. Draco was still, however, and his breathing was slow and even. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he changed back into his human form.

As the bed shifted beneath his increased weight, Harry remembered he had on nothing but pants. He shook his head at the irony. Here he was, nearly naked in Draco Malfoy's bed, and Draco was fast asleep—or passed out in a drunken slumber.

About to take his leave, Harry paused to admire Draco through more human eyes.

Draco's bare back was smooth and unmarked, curving down to the amazing perfection of his buttocks that Harry had admired on more than a few recent occasions. Draco's legs were still encased in the trousers he had worn beneath his dress robes and his feet... were clad in shoes.

Harry bit his lip. It seemed wrong, somehow, to let Draco sleep with shoes on. Bad enough he was sprawled over his bed and would likely awaken stiff and chilled in the morning. But to sleep with shoes on… Harry grimaced. Ever since his days of Horcrux hunting and being forced to sleep fully clothed, shod, and ready to run, he had hated to sleep in anything more constricting than pants. Even socks left him feeling stifled.

Feeling magnanimous, Harry sighed and walked around the bed to carefully ease the shoes from Draco's feet, thankful that they were wizard-style ankle boots with no laces. It took a few more minutes of gnawing his lip with indecision before he reached beneath the trouser legs and tugged off Draco's socks, as well.

Feeling pleased with himself, Harry turned to go, but a sleepy voice stopped him in his tracks. "Harry?"

He turned back, heart in his throat, but Draco wasn't looking at him. He hadn't seemed to have moved at all.

"'M cold," Draco said and curled into himself, drawing his knees up towards his chest. Harry ached at the sight, something in him humbled at the vision of Draco Malfoy, tough-as-nails Auror, looking small and vulnerable.

A soft-looking blanket was folded atop the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, so Harry snatched it up and shook it out. He draped it carefully over Draco, who made a muted sound of approval. Harry was about to escape again when he saw that Draco's eyes were open and watching him. To Harry's amazement, Draco's lips curved in a smile.

"I'm dreaming again," Draco murmured.

Relief was like warm water running through Harry's veins, thawing his frozen blood. He nodded in swift agreement and leaned over Draco to tug the blanket over one pale shoulder. "You're dreaming," he agreed in a whisper.

He began to move away, hoping to escape before Draco shook off his fog and realized he wasn't dreaming, but Draco's hand reached out and snatched Harry's wrist. Harry looked back at him.

"Where is my kiss?" Draco asked, sounding perfectly lucid. He pulled Harry's wrist, bringing him inexorably closer.

"K… kiss?" Harry asked, flushing as he realized Draco was obviously awake and having him on.

"Of course," Draco replied, sounding slightly petulant. His eyes fluttered shut and Harry was suddenly confused. If Draco was having him on, what was his purpose? Even though Harry's thoughts were tangled, he followed Draco's inexorable pull, placing one knee on the bed and bracing himself with his free hand.

Draco tipped his face up, eyes still closed, obviously waiting for Harry's kiss. Drawing one last shaking breath, Harry shut his eyes and pressed his lips to Draco's. It wasn't much, as kisses went, just a touch of lips to lips, and alcohol-scented breath mingling for long, heart-stopping moments.

Harry pulled away; his eyes snapped open and trepidation returned full-force as he awaited Draco's response. He did not expect Draco's head to drop back to the bed, eyes still shuttered and lips bearing a gentle smile. The hand gripping Harry's wrist relaxed and fell away.

"'Night," Draco mumbled.

Harry blinked for a moment and then scrambled away from the bed. "Goodnight, Draco," he said softly. He strode to the door and paused only once to look back. Draco hadn't moved. Harry opened the door and fled.

~TBC~