Disclaimer: Not mine…wait…plot is mine. Words belong to all English speaking people, Harry and Draco to J.K. Rowlings, and words of Shakespeare belongs to the great bard himself

Thank you to all the people who reviewed!! I didn't think I would care that much, until I saw my first review and went rabid with happiness. Please make my day again!

Meet Lysander

Harry was now, two years later, living in muggle London and attending a university in search for a degree in engineering. He'd always enjoyed building things and figured, why not make a career out of it? Harry had given up his quest for finding Draco Malfoy soon after the war ended; the guy simply seemed to vanish off into thin air. Harry, being the faithful friend he was, still kept in contact with Hermoine and Ron, but that seemed to be the extent of his ties with the wizarding world.

This particular Saturday morning, Harry was being yelled at, and quite loudly, by his flat mate to drag his sorry arse out of bed. Harry cracked one eyelid open, and squinted drowsily at the features of the cranky looking young man.

"Pothead! Up, up, up! I'm leaving in ten for an afternoon jam with the guys at Joe's. You said last night that you wanted to come this time, remember? We've got a new guy to replace Taylor." Harry only caught a few phrases here and there, one being afternoon jam and the mention of a new guy. Lysander's band practice, then, Harry groggily registered in his mind.

"Huh? Afternoon…? What time is it?" Harry asked sleepily, still not quite sure at why he was being dragged out of his comfortable, cozy, little cocoon.

"It's twelve o'clock, you lazy bum! I have to be at Joe's by twelve-thirty, so you'd better haul your butt off to the showers at once!" With this, the young man impatiently rustled at Harry's covers, successfully jolting his half-asleep flat mate back into reality.

"It's twelve? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" muttered a now coherent Harry who had leapt off the bed and was currently busy scrambling around grabbing his shower things.

"Sorry, I was out doing a little shopping. Hurry up! I've got to put all the groceries away and you'd better be ready when I'm done!" Lysander's voice rang through loud and clear from the kitchen, and Harry figured he had time for about a five-minute shower.

"Alright, alright," Harry grumbled, trudging as fast as his he could with sleep weary limbs. "No need to nag."

"I heard that!" Came Lysander's cheerful retort from the kitchen, and Harry silently cursed the walls of their small flat for being so thin and the existence of morning people. Or noon people, as this case may prevail.

Wincing as he attempted to handle a razor in the showers, Harry added a third curse directed at his horrible professors, for putting all of their deadlines at the end of the semester. Harry, being a procrastinator, had stayed up late all week in order to finish the various term papers and projects due before the summer break. By Friday, he was exhausted and heavily sleep deprived, with a pounding headache and the inability to stand up straight. Yet he had still promised Lysander to come to his band practice, and offer his opinion on if the new guy was any good. So, maybe, all the cursing should be directed at himself.

Harry pulled on a ratty pair of jeans and an old button down shirt as he walked into the kitchen, toweling his unruly hair dry. Lysander was waiting, leaning against the door, with the keys jangling in his hand. "There you are! Finally! Spent time preening in front of the mirror again, I suppose?" he grinned, showing that he was indeed joking, and went to open the door.

Harry pulled his oxfords on, save the effort of bothering with a pair of socks, and followed his flat mate out the door. Lysander was really something else, Harry mused, and he considered himself very lucky to find a flat mate he could get along with so well, considering the types of odd people who wondered along London. Not to say, of course, that Lysander wasn't odd.

Harry had put a classified ad in the newspaper requiring a flat mate ages ago, he was of course rich enough, with his parent's gold, to afford to live alone, but with the cost of tuition and the uncertainty of the job market, he thought that he had better store most of that money away for a rainy day.

One day, Lysander had just shown up at his door, forsaking the formalities of calling or writing, and asked if he could move in. Harry had conducted a hurried interview at the door, found out that the young man could pay his rent, doesn't smoke and is not on the run from the police, and helped him with his bags into the living room.

On the whole, Harry's intuition to trust the young man had been proven beyond correct. Lysander was about 5'9, had collar length brown hair and was rather androgynous looking. He had came from a rich background, but disowned his parents in an argument over his future. They wanted him to carry on the family business of the law firm, but he was never one to do what others expected. Lysander was also a bit of a pretty boy, having modeled in his past as a way of making spare change.

Harry wasn't in denial about the fact that Lysander strongly reminded him of a certain someone else. Harry had never dated seriously in his whole life, he had had flings and one-night stands with various men, but not feeling attracted enough to any of them to sustain a relationship. Lysander smirked at his habits, yet another annoying trait that set off memories in Harry's mind.

Lysander had a firm philosophy about relationships, and love in general. He believed that one would just know when they meet the one they were meant for, regardless of gender, race and background. Thus he didn't date around much, claiming not to be attracted to anyone that Harry had attempted to set him up with. This irritated Harry, to a point of asking how Lysander would know who was the right one if he had never experimented.

Lysander just smiled with wisdom beyond his eighteen years, and said, "there are more things in heaven and earth, Harry, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Harry just shook his head and chalked up it to the philosophy courses his flat mate was taking. A thought was then pushed to the back of his mind, a memory of that little jolt of…something he had felt when seeing Draco, for the first time, upon that stool in Madame Malkin's shop.

Harry was lured back to the present by the sound of a car engine starting, and looked around to find himself seated in Lysander's old and beat up Jaguar. Harry shook his head as he always did at the condition of Lysander's car; it was almost like the young man had intentionally roughed up the once beautiful piece of machine to suit his lifestyle. Such a pity, Harry thought, feeling a surge of sympathy for the scarred automobile.

"You seem awfully quiet," Lysander remarked, "nervous about conquering the new guy?" Harry blinked, and then grinned and shook his head. "Naw…he'll be mine before you guys even take a water break, just wait a see." It was an ongoing joke between the two that Harry had seduced all those who are, or were, in Lysander's band and had even a possibility of swinging both ways.

Harry had slept with the old guitar player, Taylor, who had quit the band once he realized that Harry couldn't possibly love him. Lysander had jokingly said that Harry was killing his musical ambitions by sabotaging his band, but he was quite relieved secretly because Taylor, frankly, sucked.

Harry couldn't help but wonder about this new guy. Would he be handsome? Would Harry like him enough for a one-night stand? Would he understand the next morning that it had meant nothing?