See disclaimer in Chapter 1. They belong to JKR.

"You look like you're in a better mood," Blaise said dryly, scowling when Draco merely grinned. He'd taken quite the tongue lashing the day before, and he was still a bit put out with the blond. "Care to share?"

Draco's lips twitched again, his eyes losing focus slightly as he remembered his mind-blowing wank with Gryffin the night before.

"No."

Blaise smiled, unable to stay angry with Draco for long. The blond knew it, too, and often used it mercilessly to his own advantage.

"Did you see Nev, then?"

"I did, and you're lucky I'm not hexing you for Fire-calling him. Honestly, Blaise, I'm an adult. I don't need looking after."

Draco's brow furrowed for a moment as he leafed through a large stack of parchment, messages Madge had given him the moment he entered the office. He'd missed several fairly important meetings yesterday afternoon, but he hadn't been in any frame of mind to stay.

"There should be something from the Diagon Alley Zoning Board in that mess," Blaise said, waving negligently toward the pile. "I took your meeting with the Director of Planning. He wasn't pleased to be dealing with me instead of you, but I told him you'd definitely be at the board meeting Monday night."

Draco nodded absently, locating the message from the stern wizard in question. Abraxas Wedgewick. The man was an absolute snob, and Draco had a feeling his family name was greasing the wheels for their proposal – a nice change, since usually it worked the other way around. He made a note to have Madge send the wizard a complimentary pass to his club, an exclusive society where the pureblood (and half-blood, as of a few decades ago) elite met to play cards and smoke. He never went there himself, and he only kept up his family's membership for moments like these. He had no use for old fools who put too much stock in blood purity and old money.

"Will Theo be there?" Draco asked, still scribbling notes on a piece of parchment.

"He may be a bit late, but yes. Freddie has an appointment with the Healer, and he wants to be there for it," Blaise said, smiling when Draco's head raised, his brow furrowed. "Just a routine check-up. Nothing to worry about."

Draco nodded, returning to his task. He'd met Ginny and Theo's daughter a few days earlier when he visited them in the hospital. Draco grinned, remembering how silly he'd felt as he skulked around the corridors of the St. Mungo's nursery, hoping for a glimpse of Gryffin. He knew the man had a friend in labor there as well, and he'd hoped their paths might cross. Of course, he'd had no idea what Gryffin looked like, or if the man's friend had still been in the hospital, but he'd hoped nonetheless. He'd worried that perhaps Ginny was the witch Gryffin had alluded to, but she had assured him her labor had been quick and easy when he'd asked. Nothing like the ordeal Gryffin had relayed.

"How's Ginny?" Draco asked, pressing a button on his desk to summon Madge. He had a pile of signed paperwork to be Owled.

"Great. I had dinner at their place last night. She just absolutely glows, and if Theo was any happier I think he'd burst," Blaise said, smiling fondly as he thought of the couple and their tiny, perfect daughter.

"Good, good," Draco murmured absently, his attention drawn to his computer screen. He'd promised himself he wouldn't check his Magical Dating Online email before he'd cleared the inbox on his desk, but he was having trouble fighting the temptation.

"The Stevens deal is being finalized," Blaise said, amused by his friend's obvious distraction.

Draco hummed his approval, biting his lip as he tried to decide what to do next. His regular email box was likely overflowing with messages, and some of them might well be urgent. He also had a few letters to read and respond to, and a dozen contracts that needed his attention before they could be sent out that afternoon.

"I talked to the supplier Theo wants to use, and it sounds like we'll get a good deal on the furniture you approved for the club," Blaise continued, swallowing a laugh when Draco abruptly turned in his chair, now facing the dark computer screen.

"That's good news," Draco muttered, booting the machine and anxiously tapping his foot as he waited for the monitor to spring to life.

"Of course, that all depends on getting that zoning change approved," Blaise said, not even bothering to hide his grin, since Draco wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Of course," Draco said, his fingers flying across his keyboard as he logged in to his email, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the new messages for one from Gryffin.

Blaise snorted when Draco's attention became fully engrossed in the screen, correctly assuming the mysterious Gryffin had emailed.

"Just a few more procedural things about the Monday night meeting," Blaise said, his body tensed to flee as he forced his voice to remain calm. "Wedgewick has requested you attend naked. It's a formality, really. It will simply make it easier for you when you trade sexual favors for the votes you need."

Draco just nodded absently, the words not registering until Blaise had already jumped up from the chair. He nearly made it through the still-open door before Draco's mild Stinging Hex caught him on the arse, the slight pain not enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

Draco rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the screen. "Prat."

To: IntrospectiveIntellectual [at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

From: MustLoveQuidditch [at]MagicalDatingOnline .uk

Friday, June 27, 2008 1:59 a.m.

Re: Thank you

Sly,

I should be in bed, since I have an early meeting in the morning – just a few hours from now, actually – but I can't calm my mind enough to get to sleep. I may need a Calming or Sleeping Draught to manage it, since every time I close my eyes I feel your palm against my cock.

It was amazing – every bit as wonderful as I've imagined it would be the numerous times I've wanked lately, pretending the hand on my cock was yours instead of mine. And tonight, it was. Shit. I thought if I emailed you it might help get you off my mind so I could sleep, but the opposite has happened. It's ridiculous, really, for a man of my age not have better control over his libido. I usually do, you know. You're the one responsible for these uncontrollable urges.

Nothing for it, I suppose. I'm off to employ my new favorite fantasy – a replay of this evening –as my wanking material. Sweet dreams, on the off chance you read this before retiring, and good luck, if you read it at the office. I'd apologize for the situation I hope you find yourself in, but I can't bring myself to be sorry if my words – and the thought of me wanking over you – makes you as hard as you make me.

Till next time,

Gryffin

Well, fuck, Draco thought dryly, the open door the only thing restraining him from rubbing his hand over his fully hardened cock. He sighed, glancing at his watch. He had a meeting in ten minutes, and Madge would be in momentarily with more paperwork for him to sign.

Grimacing, he grabbed his wand, casting a quick spell to rid him of his erection. The charm wouldn't last long, but it should get him through until lunch, when he could Apparate home to take care of the problem Gryffin had caused. Draco grinned, remembering the very uncomfortable evening years ago when Professor Snape had called all the Slytherin first year boys together to talk to them about sex, even more mortifying for Draco since he'd been his godfather as well as Head of House. Severus taught them all the useful charm, which Draco had employed more than a few times in his early years at Hogwarts.

He groaned as thoughts of Severus led to thoughts of Gryffin's confession. He was fairly sure the professor who had so affected Gryffin was none other than Severus Snape, Potions Master extraordinaire. His erection surged with renewed interest at the thought of a younger Gryffin furiously wanking in some deserted alcove. Draco had never had any fantasies about the man, but he did concede that Sev's voice had definitely been wank-worthy.

Uncle Sev taught for what – 20-some years? Draco wondered, hoping he could redirect his thoughts enough to avoid using the spell again. It wasn't exactly painful, but it wasn't a comfortable sensation, either. So Gryffin can't be terribly older than me. He may even be close to my own age. That is, if he was talking about Sev. Draco sighed resolutely, lifting his wand to cast the charm again.

"Algo Pluvia," he said, wincing as the icy sensation served its intended purpose.

" – terribly sorry, but his absence was unavoidable yesterday." Blaise was just outside the door, his tone conciliatory and sincere.

" – an insult–" an unfamiliar voice was droning on, clearly upset. Draco strained, but couldn't make out the rest of it.

"And I do apologize," Blaise said, the underlying annoyance in his smooth voice audible only to those, like Draco, who knew him well. "But he does have a few moments now, if you'd like to see him. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy wouldn't mind. He has another appointment shortly, but he'd never willingly turn away such a valuable client as you, Madam Atalier."

Blaise rapped on the open door sharply, ostensibly announcing their presence. Draco knew it was a show for the woman he was leading in – Blaise was well aware of the Amplifying charms Madge had placed on the corridor so no one could sneak up on her boss.

Draco nodded, sending Blaise a silent word of thanks for defusing the situation and cluing him in to who the woman was – no doubt the fuming witch in front of him would be even angrier had he blanked on her name.

"Madam Atalier," he greeted, standing to bow formally to the middle-aged woman before skirting his desk to press a kiss to her outstretched hand. She and her husband owned several large apothecaries around Great Britain, and Malfoy Industries had been advising them on real estate purchases and business investments for years. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She softened visibly at his gesture, the tight lines around her grim mouth disappearing as she smiled girlishly at him.

"Madam Atalier's son had an appointment with you yesterday, Mr. Malfoy," Blaise said, his lips curved into a smirk only Draco could see, since he remained in the doorway. "Your cancellation was quite inconvenient for him, and Madam was kind enough to come in his place today to settle the matter herself."

Blaise paused, striding into the room with a hefty file folder. Ah, Draco thought, his face still a mask of polite interest, she's here about those flagging investments her idiotic son insisted on. He took the file, nodding curtly to Blaise, who mirrored his earlier actions, bowing to the witch.

"I am confident Mr. Malfoy will be able to help you, Madam," he said politely, flashing her his most irresistible grin. "I'm so glad we had the chance to chat. He has a habit of monopolizing our most charming clients."

She blushed under Blaise's appreciative stare, absently stroking the back of her hand, still tingling from Draco's kiss.

Blaise winked at Draco as he retreated from the room, pausing again to smirk as he pointedly glanced at Draco's crotch, raising an eyebrow. The blond blushed, both embarrassed that the darker wizard had heard his earlier spell and grateful he'd had the sense to delay Madam Atalier in the corridor until it had time to work.

"You owe me," Blaise mouthed silently before he left, making mock gagging motions as he rolled his eyes as the homely witch seated across from Draco's desk.

"Oh, for the love of –" Hermione hissed, jabbing Harry in the ribs. He'd fallen asleep – again.

Harry's head bobbed, his eyes snapping open. Hermione sighed, leaning over to turn several pages of the open manuscript in front of him. They were still going over edits – the final round, thankfully – and Harry had been dozing on and off for the last hour.

"You were the one who wanted this much control," she whispered, her lips grazing his ear as he bent to accommodate her. "You were the one who fought to be so involved in the editing process. They don't do this for most writers, you know. You could at least pretend to be interested."

Harry blushed, reaching up to adjust his glasses, his hand faltering when he realized he wasn't wearing them. He studied the pale hand in front of him, with its manicured nails and light dusting of blond hair. Right, he thought muddily, blinking to try to orient himself. His heart skipped when he realized he'd fallen asleep during the editorial meeting. Had his glamour slipped? His frantic gaze met Hermione's, and she shook her head slightly, immediately understanding the reason for his distress. His shoulders relaxed slightly, his back still straight, now wide awake from the adrenaline rush.

"We're about finished," the dour woman seated down the table said, looking up at Harry. "Unless you have any objections, Mr. Evans."

Harry glanced down at the papers in front of him, edits he'd already perused the night before. He'd been unable to sleep, even after his 2 a.m. wank, so he'd brewed some coffee and worked instead.

"Mr. Evans?"

Harry looked up, rubbing a hand over his face. He knew the glamour would cover it, but he was exhausted. He hadn't fallen into bed until after 6 a.m., which left him less than two hours to sleep before he needed to wake for his 9 a.m. meeting. He looked at the long conference table, scattered with soggy boxes of half-eaten, empty coffee cups and discarded parchment. They'd been at it all day.

"No, none," he said, his voice a bit scratchy with disuse. He wasn't allowed a very active role in the editing process. As Hermione had said, it was a miracle he was there at all, and only because she'd insisted. He hadn't had the privilege the first few times around, but as a best-selling novelist, he had some pull now. "Thank you. It's fabulous. Brilliant work, everyone."

The tired editors and publicists glowed at the praise, some of them breaking into spontaneous applause. This was another reason he was allowed into their inner sanctum, a place most authors were refused entry – his charm and modesty. They all truly loved working with Harry, who rarely missed deadlines or threw fits over edits or publicity schedules. James Evans was a hard worker, a talented writer and an all-around nice man.

"Unnecessary, but thank you," he said, unsure if the blush he could feel heating his cheeks showed through the glamour.

He stood when everyone else did, gathering up his notes and the dog-eared manuscript. He could tell he was in for a lecture from Hermione, since her back was ram-rod straight and her smile forced as she accepted thanks and congratulations from nearly a dozen different people as they made their way out of the publishing offices.

He watched her warily, knowing she'd wait until they were alone before laying into him. So he was surprised when she moved past him to step toward the Floo. He always went first to open the wards at Grimmauld Place.

"Aren't you –"

"You need sleep," she said shortly, rolling her eyes when his hands flew to his face again, checking to make sure the glamour had held.

"I don't need to be able to see the effects to know you were up all night," she hissed, leaning in closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "Just what were you thinking? I don't even want to know what you got up to last night, James, but I'm here to tell you that it very nearly cost you everything you've worked for!"

He swallowed heavily, knowing she was right. It had been incredibly foolhardy to venture out in his glamour today. It could easily have slipped half a dozen times today, when he'd dozed off or simply zoned out.

"I'm sorry –"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Don't apologize to me. I'd make even more money if it came out who you are. You're the one who wants to keep it a secret."

He sighed, nodding. She didn't understand why he insisted on keeping the penname, and he did feel a bit guilty about it. He didn't need the money – not with the Black and Potter vaults and properties that had come to him when he came of age – but it would make a world of difference to her and Ron. James Evans was a well-known name, and a fairly big pull. But as Harry Potter, he'd easily double the profits the books made.

"You know I'd give you –"

Her eyes flashed, and he stepped back, an unconscious gesture of self-preservation.

"Don't start," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

They'd had this conversation many times, too. He wanted to compensate her for the lost income she surely suffered from not having Harry Potter as her client, but she wouldn't hear of it. Hell, he'd love to buy her and Ron a house, or start a vault for them at Gringotts, but neither would even consider it.

"I'm going, before you say something that will make me angry," she said, her expression tight. "But I'm going to tell you this again. You need to meet this man."

Harry balked, but she held up her hand, stopping his protest.

"Don't. I know this has something to do with him. Every distraction or problem you've had over the last two months can be traced back to him," she said, her voice softening. "I know you think you know what you're doing, but you really need to meet him in person. Soon. Or at least find out who he is. You're in this too deep."

He opened his mouth, unable to find any words to refute her statements.

"You know it, too," she said, her eyes sad. "You're half-way to in love with him, and you don't even know who he is."

Harry nodded, shrugging. It was true. He knew how foolish this situation was – what if Sly ended up being some lothario? What if he wasn't anything like he seemed in his emails? He'd allowed himself to get emotionally entangled with a complete stranger.

"A few weeks," he said lamely, shrugging. Sly couldn't meet before then, and Harry was busy with things for the wedding and the book, as well. There would be no point in trying to move up their meeting.

Hermione braced herself on his shoulders, reaching up to kiss him. Her lips pressed against the stubble on his jaw line, hidden by the glamour.

"Get some sleep."

"I will," he promised, returning the kiss before she stepped into the fireplace and Flooed away.

TBC