Harry thought a lot about something Draco had said on their outing to London. When he had asked him to rescind the command to call him sir, Draco had replied, "I've got to be me." It said a lot, although Harry hadn't picked up on it at the time.
No matter how things went, whether they actually became friends or whether they hooked up again, or whether they decided to play it cool, there would always be a part of Draco that needed to try to get under Harry's skin. Even if they called a truce somehow and miraculously became best friends, Draco would always need some way to needle Harry until he reacted.
And he had to admit to himself that he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in upending Draco's expectations. He hated being obligated to obey the other boy's orders, but he took great joy in fulfilling the commands with the least acceptable results. Like being told to pour the tea but setting the cup out of reach, or refusing to improve his cravat knotting skills. He enjoyed obeying the letter of a command in a way that still didn't give Draco the results he was looking for. And he suspected Draco preferred it when he didn't fall into line.
He liked getting away with behavior that wasn't acceptable in the Malfoy household. He liked playing right up to the line where Draco should have been angry, but instead eliciting a smile or a laugh. It became a challenge to be as defiant as he could be while denying Draco the righteous outrage he had been so well known for at school.
He started taking liberties with his uniform. Sometimes he wore the jacket inside out. He tied it around his shoulders like a cardigan on hot days. His cravat traveled about his person, sometimes as a headband, sometimes as an arm band. Every time he showed up out of sorts Draco ordered him imperiously to correct his attire, but always with an effort to conceal his amusement.
However, Harry never showed up to dinner with his uniform out of sorts. He continued to be scared of Lucius, and aside from inventing a preposterous life for Randolph Featherbottom, he did nothing that might raise the ire of the erratic and frequently incoherent man. On nights when Lucius was lucid enough to acknowledge Harry's presence, he always asked how his father was doing. Harry started crafting more and more absurd responses purely for the snort of laughter they could elicit in his former rival. His ultimate goal in this game was to make Draco laugh so hard that he had to excuse himself from the table. It would be a small victory, but it gave him great pleasure to try
"My father is well, sir," he said one night. "Although he's still recovering from throwing his back out at the Centaur races. I told him to hire a jockey but he always insists."
Draco dropped his chin to his chest with his finger hooked over his mouth, as though deep in thought. The slight tremble of his shoulders gave him away. Harry counted it as a win.
"My father is well, sir," he said another night. "Although he caught a terrible case of the high altitude jiggle legs at a mountain top soiree."
Draco turned his head and tried to conceal his laughter with a fit of coughing. Harry counted it as another win.
The other boy usually retaliated by ordering him to perform some kind of menial task. He once made Harry serve him a hot towel with tongs. He ordered Harry to fold crepes tableside and laughed at his completely incompetent performance. Harry hated the demeaning tasks, but knew they were part of a delicate balance.
In a way they both needed the hostility. It was somehow, in and of itself, a sort of friendship. They had negotiated a way to the end of their hatred for each other by accepting and expecting each other's barbs. So with that understanding he should have seen Draco's next request coming.
They were sitting out on the second floor balcony, lazily casting showy charms that did nothing more than make pretty shapes and colors in the air. Harry was dreadfully bored but knew if he said anything Draco would come up with something remarkably unpleasant to fill his time, just to enjoy his misery.
"Do you know how to drive?" Draco asked suddenly.
"No, sir," Harry frowned. "Bollocks."
"I want to get out of here tomorrow. Take a trip into town," Draco stowed his wand in its holster and squinted up at the overcast sky. The July heat was in full effect but the clouds helped dampen it a bit.
"You have a limo," Harry pointed out. They had taken a few trips into town in the limo before, usually just for a meal and a change of scenery.
"Yes but I think it would be more fun to have you drive me," Draco raised his eyebrow.
"I'll kill us both," Harry shrugged carelessly. "Although that might be preferable to spending the rest of the summer in this sodding uniform and calling you sir."
"I think I'd like to see a film," he said. "In a muggle cinema. Let's go see a film tomorrow. You can drive."
"On one condition," Harry said sternly. "You let me dress normally."
"Fine, just this once," Draco said magnanimously.
"And I don't want to call you sir or Master Draco while we're out." Harry had put out that demand every time the other boy had asked him to accompany him out of the house. It had never been granted but he kept trying. It was the one part of this whole arrangement that he could find no amusing antidote to. He sincerely hated it.
"I'll think about it." Draco said.
The next morning Harry opened his trunk and looked through his clothing. He hadn't unpacked since his arrival. It felt like a way to keep a piece of himself reserved, a piece of him that was unswervingly fixated on the end of the Blood Oath's term of service. He fished out a pair of corduroys and his favorite graphic muggle t-shirt. It was maroon and had a picture of a guitar on it with flames along the body. He thought it looked rather cool.
The other staff eyed him suspiciously as he entered the main house out of dress code, but he swept by and mounted the service stairs without comment. He knocked on Draco's door in a way that could almost be described as chipper. He felt amazing, comfortable in his own clothing, and he could almost pretend that he was here of his own volition, ready to head out into town with a friend.
"Come in," Draco called.
Harry slid the doors open and his breath caught in his throat. Draco was in his underpants, holding up two shirts for comparison. The sunlight slanted across his bare chest, highlighting the subtle lines of his lean, muscled physique. Harry steadied his nerve and entered. They hadn't touched since their trip to London and Harry was a bit hard up for it by now. But Draco hadn't made another move, and Harry didn't want to assume, so they had both kept their hands to themselves.
"Which one?" asked Draco.
"Green," Harry said shortly and stared at his feet.
"Agreed," Draco slipped the t-shirt over his head and stepped into a pair of strategically weathered indigo-dyed blue jeans. "What's that on your shirt?" he asked.
"An electric guitar," Harry wondered if it was a trick question.
"It's an instrument? What does it sound like?" Draco asked as he laced up his shoes.
"You're joking, right?" Harry was dumbfounded.
"I'm serious," Draco stood and checked his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed his hair down with his hand and turned around with his arms extended. "This is okay for the cinema, right?"
"You look really great," Harry winced and wished he'd chosen a less effusive response. His eyes defied his will and insisted upon ravaging the other boy, admiring the way his arse looked in those sodding jeans.
"Come here," Draco waved Harry closer. He reached out and plucked the hem of his shirt up in both hands. He studied the guitar graphic with interest. When he looked up his face was very close to Harry's. "I'd like to hear it. You'll have to play me some music sometime." His eyes twinkled. He knew Harry wanted it, but he wasn't going to give it up. With a jolt, Harry realized that sex had become part of the game.
"Let's go," Draco brushed past him and headed down the front stairs.
Harry followed self-consciously, his pent up frustration set aside as he worried about the task that lay before him. He had only driven a car a couple of times in his life. Out in the circular drive one of the convertible sports cars had been dusted off, polished up, and made road-ready. The hood was down and the engine was running.
"I haven't driven much," Harry said warningly. "I might ruin the engine."
"Then ruin it," Draco slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. "No one is using it anyway."
Harry was shaking. He was terribly nervous about crashing, or being pulled over by muggle police. Draco seemed too calm, and Harry decided it must be an act. He climbed in behind the wheel and took a deep breath. He thought carefully and pressed down the clutch. He grasped the gear lever, shifted, and slowly let up the clutch as he applied the gas. For a second he thought it would be okay, but then he popped it and the car lurched forward and died.
Draco looked up in delight, his hair a bit mussed from the jolt. "Amazing!" he said. "You didn't even get it out of the driveway!"
Harry scowled and depressed the clutch again. He cranked the engine and thankfully it fired up without hesitation. It took a few false starts for him to get the hang of shifting smoothly, but he finally managed to get the car rolling down to the end of the drive. He sat at the intersection between the driveway and the small rambling road that would take them into town and steeled his queasy stomach. Then he put it into gear and began to drive.
Draco teased him endlessly as they went. Harry was so nervous about shifting and braking that he didn't want to go any faster than second gear would allow. Draco called him an old woman and announced that he could walk faster than Harry could drive. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to block out his running commentary, so that he could stay focused on not running off of the road.
The drive should have taken fifteen minutes. It took twice as long for Harry to navigate the distance. When they finally arrived at the cinema car park, Harry had to maneuver into a slot well away from the entrance in order to ensure that he wouldn't hit another car. Draco reached over and pressed the switch to put the hood up, and they stepped out.
"That was absolutely worth it," Draco grinned.
Harry glowered at him and pocketed the keys. "You forgot part of the deal," he said.
Draco nodded and squinted at Harry thoughtfully. Finally he shrugged and announced, "You may stop calling me sir or Master Draco for the duration of this outing."
"Thanks, you sodding wanker," Harry's face lit up with a huge grin. "It worked! I've been wanting to call you that for ages, you bloody bastard!"
"All right, get it out of your system," Draco said tolerantly.
"Whatever you say, buggery bollocksing arsehole," Harry grinned.
"Now you just sound like you have a mental illness," Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on."
They crossed the car park and checked the marquee. They had no idea what any of the films were, so they tried to guess by title and poster art. They finally settled on one that had a picture of two men holding guns because it seemed like it would be exciting.
Draco kept a reserve of muggle currency, which Harry was relieved to learn since he hadn't thought far enough ahead to wonder how they would purchase tickets. He insisted that Draco purchase a bag of popcorn and a pair of beverages, telling him it wouldn't count as an authentic cinema experience without them.
Harry wondered if the other patrons could tell they were out of place. He had gone back and forth between the two worlds since he was eleven years old, but he had long felt like he'd lost some of his fluency in muggle affairs. Draco seemed baffled by the whole experience, which was surely remarkable to those who lived with this kind of normalcy every day. He guided Draco to a pair of seats in the middle of the row at the very back of the theater.
"Why are we way up here?" Draco asked, suspicious that Harry was setting him up for a poor viewing experience. It was the middle of the week and the middle of the day, so the rest of the seats were mostly empty.
"I don't know," Harry looked around. "I always sit at the back."
"I'd better be able to see everything from here," Draco grumbled as he sat in the thinly padded folding seat. "Not terribly luxurious, is it?" he asked.
"You wanted to experience the cinema," Harry dug into the popcorn and crammed a handful into his mouth.
"Did you see the sweets for sale out there?" Draco asked. "I didn't recognize any of them." He took a sip from his drink. "I thought I saw Bertie Botts Beans but the name was wrong."
"Their beans are probably just fruit flavored," Harry said.
"I could go for a chocolate frog but I didn't see those either," Draco pouted.
"Theirs wouldn't hop anyway," Harry was amused by the other boy's gripes. He didn't like to be out of his comfort zone.
The lights dimmed and the first trailers came up. The sound was loud and the screen was huge. Draco's eyes widened as the rapid-cut action fired off color and motion and sound. When the trailer finished he gawked at Harry with amazement.
"Was that it?" he asked. Just then the second trailer started and he jumped in surprise.
Harry enjoyed the role reversal. Draco had built their dynamic around his own comfort zone, with Harry constantly on edge and unfamiliar with what was expected of him. Now the shoe was on the other foot, as it were, and Harry was the one who could sit back and smirk knowingly at the other boy's surprise.
The film finally started and Harry had to pay attention to follow the plot. It was a modern intrigue story, with exciting chase scenes and spy technology and lots of shooting. They were almost an hour in when Harry realized Draco wasn't watching the screen. He was watching Harry.
"I can't follow what's happening," Draco whispered.
"Do you want me to explain it to you?" Harry asked, pointing at the action.
"No," Draco said simply.
"Okay," Harry was confused. He turned his attention back to the screen but couldn't concentrate. Draco was still watching him. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked.
"You're making faces at the film," Draco said with a small smile.
"I am?" Harry was suddenly self conscious. He hadn't realized that he had been reacting to the action.
"You are," Draco chuckled.
That sound, that particular laugh was keyed directly into the most sensitive part of Harry's brain. He was suddenly not terribly interested in the film. He set the bag of popcorn on the floor and took a swig of his drink.
"There's another cinema tradition you should experience, if you want it to count," Harry said slyly.
"What's that?" Draco eyed him warily.
Harry reached over and pulled Draco's face to his and kissed him. Draco was startled and pulled back sharply. His eyes searched the theater for other patrons, but they were safely beyond the peripheral vision of the few who were present.
"And that, Malfoy, is why you sit at the back of the theater," Harry grinned.
"Well aren't you brilliant?" Draco relaxed a bit and allowed himself a small smile. "Shall we try it again?" he asked innocently.
Harry pulled the willing boy in and kissed him again. He wasn't fooled by his act. It was part of the game.