Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. They fuel me, so keep em coming! Poor Michael has gotten crazy death threats and has therefore fled to an undisclosed location for his own safety. *grin* But don't worry…he'll be here when I need him. Since I'm god and all.

Anyways, Thanks, Jasmine and Liz (*glomps* I can't tell you how much it means that you like my story, my lizbear.).

Chapter 8……………What the hell was *that*?

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It was funny, Harry thought, how such mundane things could make so much noise. Before, when two bodies occupied his flat, he hadn't noticed the sound of the refrigerator as it ran, or the pipes settling. Now the sounds seem to ring in his ears, irritating him. This was his last day off before he began his new job. He had been to see Mr. Bramble and had signed all the appropriate papers, and tomorrow he would be traveling to Ireland to tell all of the Irish witches and wizards how very much the Famous Harry Potter loved his Firebolt broom. He was excited, yes, but also nervous. He had never traveled that far, nor endorsed anything. As with everything in his life, he hoped to do his best.

His teammates had thrown him a party two days prior to congratulate him on his new position. Of all the handshakes and sloppy "Congraddss Heery"s he received, only Paul seemed to notice the fallaciousness of his bright smile. The larger man had pulled him aside and demanded to know the reason for his anxiousness. Harry had, of course, lied and blamed it solely on nerves. It was obvious that Paul didn't buy it, but thankfully, he hadn't pressed the issue.

The truth was, Harry still had qualms about leaving the area Draco would be flitting about, now a completely single man. He did not regret his decision, yet, the thought still made him squirm. Was that not normal? Of course it was. Did this fact lessen the uneasy feeling? No.

Harry wrinkled his nose in thought. This was exactly why he had taken the job. If he didn't put some space between them, there would be no telling how long these feelings would persist.

Groaning, Harry wished he could just shut his brain off. Suddenly, another sound caught his attention – the television. He'd had it on as a distraction, with the volume low, hardly paying it any attention. Apparently the current station was a music program. Harry didn't recognize the song, but it was fast, upbeat and almost irritatingly catchy. Without thinking about it, he turned the volume up to a suitable level…but didn't stop there. Soon, the music blared all throughout his flat and, more importantly, his brain. He could no longer hear the refrigerator, the pipes, or the phone if it rang. It was loud…too loud to think, and Harry thanked Merlin for it.

Again with no spared thoughts to his actions, Harry found himself leaping off of his sofa in his socked feet and sliding across the floor. He spun…he jumped…he shouted for no reason…he lost his glasses…he clambered onto his sofa and leapt from the arm to the floor where he sprawled out panting and wondering just what had brought on his sudden outpour of energy. He felt spent and…oddly sated. Flopping one of his arms across his face and over his eyes, Harry laughed out loud.

*****************************************************

Draco was pissed. He'd looked at what seemed like millions of apartments and had yet to find *the one*. So here he was in his hotel room, homeless and bored…*again*.

He sighed. He'd barely spoken to Michael since the incident in the gardens, giving the man a week off and leaving no room for argument. He'd been confused and unwilling to deal with it at his current juncture. Of course, having Michael gone meant he had to handle many things himself that would have been delegated to the more experienced man. This kept Draco busy, but he was grateful for the distraction, as well as the chance to learn.

But now, flat on his back with no one to talk to, he almost welcomed the intrusion. Draco dug out his phone; fascination with the device subsided greatly, and looked at it. To anyone else, it would seem as if he were expecting the phone to make the call itself. But no, Draco was thinking…hard.

'Better check the number, just to be sure…' He thought as he flipped through his address book.

He found what he was looking for and long, determined fingers pressed the numbers.

*ring*

*ring*

*ring*

*ring*

*ring*

'Damn…no answer…well, I guess Harry's out doing…something.'

Ending the unsuccessful call, Draco shrugged and grabbed for his coat. He'd seen a small gallery a few blocks away for local artists. He'd yet to venture inside the place, and it interested him. The art could have been made from trashcans and molten lava and he would have been grateful to see it. Anything was better than another afternoon in his bathrobe. He set out onto the street and headed for the gallery.

When Draco stepped inside, he smiled. The art made him feel strangely at home. He wasn't much of an artist, visually anyways, but he held a deep appreciation for those who were and for their work. He was greeted by an attractive girl and slowly walked around, liking some displays more than others. He began to think that he might buy a few pieces when he at last had walls to place them on when he stopped dead in his tracks. He found it hard to breathe as he stared into his own face.

The painting…it was…him. He hadn't sat for any painting. There were no pictures of him floating around, that he knew of. Who could have painted such a likeness? It was like a mirror, only deeper. The colors splayed across canvas seemed to paint more than just his pretty face…but a part of his soul. There was so much…life. The Draco in the portrait sat simply, with one leg on the ground and the other bent at the knee. His arms were draped over his knee. Although his head bent down, his eyes looked up, piercing steel in color and in feeling. A small, knowing smile adorned his face and Draco felt almost…scared…to look at himself like that. Continuing to look at the painting, Draco saw the wings. Butterfly wings. They were dark and jagged along the edges with streaks of silver coursing through them like veins. Not feminine but still…delicate. He knew instantly who'd done the painting. Still…with no other resources, the amazing likeness had come from memory? The thought was almost overwhelming that someone could know his face so well. He reached a shocked hand forward and palmed the painting, fingers spread over the surface trying to take the image into his being. Suddenly a voice startled him.

"Sir…you're not allowed to touch the paintings."

Draco turned to see the girl from earlier who obviously worked there. He muttered an apology and didn't notice her suddenly realize as well that he was the one in the picture. Without the use of his neurons, Draco turned on his heel and ran from the gallery. He ran and ran and ran. He didn't know exactly where he was running, or what he was running from…only that he needed to run. When the heat from his coat became too much to bear he shrugged it off and left it in the street, soon followed by his sweater and undershirt. All too soon, Draco Malfoy ran through the streets of London in late November shirtless and oblivious to the looks of both criticism and approval.

He didn't know how long or how far he ran, but eventually he slowed and soon became cold. His breath came in harsh pants; his lungs continually unsatisfied with the intake of air. When he'd calmed himself enough to not look crazed, he stepped into the nearest clothing store to cover his bare torso and ignored the giggling of the salesgirls as he entered.

His thoughts dwelled on the painting and why it had almost made him weep. He'd always known he was an attractive boy, and later, man. He usually noticed when both men and women let out small sighs when he entered a room. He was a brilliant, handsome, witty man. Modest? Not so much. But *never* had Draco considered himself beautiful. That painting was beautiful. It displayed not only a stunning face and body but also an underlying gothic beauty that seemed to beckon any fly into the web. It was almost…vampiric. Draco was stunned, not only by the sight of the painting itself, but of the realization that another human being saw him in such a way. He was confused, bewildered and…intrigued. He *had* to know more…had to know why…

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Michael came walking into the storefront with a friendly smile for the girl who worked there.

"Was there anything else you wanted moved in the back?"

The girl eyed him for a moment. "No…thanks for your help, since you have the time off and all." She paused, unsure of whether or not to continue. In the end…she charged ahead. "That guy…in your painting…he was here a moment ago. I didn't recognize him at first…but he saw it and kind of freaked out. He had his hand on it and I told him he couldn't touch the paintings…then he just took off. I don't know where he went though."

Michael was already heading for his coat. "Interesting…very interesting."

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Harry finally turned the volume down after he had ceased his laughing. He wiped a few tears that had leaked from his sudden hilarity and rose from the floor. He noticed a blinking light on his answering machine and pressed the button to replay the message.

Silence.

"Hmmm" he noised aloud. "They must've hung up. Oh well…I'm sure they would've left a message had it been important."

He was just about to hop into the shower and wash away the sweat of the afternoon when he noticed an unfamiliar owl at his window. Letting the creature in, he slipped a rolled piece of parchment from her leg and began to read.

Harry Potter,

I have heard, through many sources, that you are currently taking care of my son. As my distaste for you is public knowledge, I will not insult you with false niceties. I have only one point to make, and that is that, regardless of your relationship to my only son, Draco is still my heir. I do not, in any way, approve of his decisions or current situation. I certainly do not approve of his choice of partner. However, as it is not my choice to make, let me say this. My son is a strong young man, the most impressive I have seen. This is due, largely, to me. He has hopefully confused himself and will soon return to the life that awaits him at my side. Until that time comes, it is in your hands he has chosen to rest. I suggest to you that you take the utmost care in the position you have been given. There are things far more valuable to my son than his inheritance. I will not take kindly to any damage that is done to them. If, when Draco returns to me, he informs me of any pain he has suffered in any way you will have to answer to me. I would also suggest you keep this letter to yourself. It is addressed to you, and meant for you only. Showing this to Draco will only give him a false hope for acceptance that is not, at this time, waiting for him. It will only cause him pain, and I believe I have established what pain for my son means for you. I trust we have an understanding, Mr. Potter.

Lucius Malfoy.

'Whoa' Was all Harry could seem to think.

Draco's father had written *him*? Why? It seemed, in Lucius' politically vague language of his own that he was concerned for Draco's welfare…worried about him even. Harry had thought Malfoy senior capable of many things…emotional concern wasn't one of them. Immediately, he wanted to call Draco…to tell him of the letter…to give him hope and make him smile. However, he remembered the last part of the letter. If it was true, and it most likely was, it *would* only hurt Draco in the end. The letter would undoubtedly send him to his father who would turn him away…and Harry wasn't so sure Draco could handle that again.

It seemed so sad…that there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even do as the letter wished…Draco was no longer his to care for….

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With a sigh, Draco stepped back onto the London pavement. He was newly adorned in unnecessarily expensive clothes, but didn't seem to care as he slipped a cigarette between his lips and tried to remember how he'd gotten there.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco took notice of a shock of black hair and the arm of an expensive coat. He resisted the urge to shout over to Michael, as he was still unsure of what he would say. So instead he ducked into a corner and crouched down low, waiting for the coast to be clear. He sat there a few moments, catching his breath until a tap on his shoulder startled him. He whipped around to find himself staring at the one person he was trying to hide from.

"I never pegged you for one who liked to sulk in alleys."

Draco stood and set his cool demeanor in place. He ran a hand through his hair and avoided the other's eyes. "I was just taking a break. What are you doing here? I thought I told you to take a week off."

Michael smiled and leaned against the wall. "I am taking a week off. I was helping a friend of mine at the gallery when she told me about this interesting blonde man who had an unusual reaction to one of my paintings."

Draco tried to keep the blush from his cheeks, but failed miserably. He opted for another tactic to preserve his detached position. "Well what do you expect? I didn't go in there expecting to see my own face."

"You liked it then?"

"It was…unnerving."

Michael smirked. "Well…I didn't mean to *unnerve* you. I just had some time on my hands with my sudden vacation and all."

There was silence for a moment, as both men knew the conversation could take two very different turns. After fidgeting with his hands for a long time, Draco lifted his eyes and found Michael staring at him intently. His confusion and curiosity overwhelmed him and he could not help raising his voice.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?!"

Michael seemed surprised, as if he hadn't even noticed he'd been looking in the first place. "Sorry…like what?"

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger and something else he couldn't name. He pointed his finger at the other's face. "Like *that*!…Like you want to eat me!"

The darker man crossed his arms over his chest. "I hadn't realized I looked at you any sort of way. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

Draco mimicked his gesture and crossed his arms, but kept his gaze on the ground so as not to betray any nervousness on his part. "Is that all you're sorry for?"

"Yes."

He looked up. "But you've…all the trouble…"

Michael ran his fingers through his shiny black hair and Draco found himself wondering if the strands felt as soft as they looked. Luckily, before his traitorous hand could reach out to see, Michael spoke.

"Really, Malfoy. I'm not some house elf, full of mischief and running around to create trouble. You were in a stagnant situation…I thought a small shove could help the both of us out."

Draco felt a surge of anger. "I don't *need* your help. It overrides the entire point of being here on my own if everyone is constantly trying to *help* me. And now I have to constantly question your motives. It makes me wonder just why you wanted to *help* me in the first place. I have to wonder if Harry was right…if you did sabotage him that night at dinner…"

He turned, fully intent on marching out of the alley and figuring out just where the hell he was, but his arm was caught in a rather painful grip, forcing him to turn back around and look into an angry face. "Now you listen to me. I may not be the most…subtle…person in the world, but I *am* honest. Just because I actually try to get something that I want does not mean that I resort to any methods to do so…" He poked a finger at Draco's chest, incensed. "…*You* are the Slytherin…not me. And if you really want to know something about the real world…and being out here on your own, well here it is!" He moved his hand with lightning speed. The finger that had been poking at Draco now aided the rest of his hand in pulling the stunned boy forward into a harsh kiss.

Draco did not relent, nor struggle, but he remained passive in his shock. When his brain finally resembled something with more solidity than soup, he made to push the taller man away…but was too late. Michael had already broken the kiss and stepped back. He placed his hands in his pockets and eyed Draco for a moment before speaking in a voice that was low, controlled and undeniably sexy.

"I look at you like that because that is how I *see* you. You're beautiful." A pause. "Not everything turns out as planned, Draco. *That* is real life." And with that said, he sauntered away without so much as a look over his shoulder, leaving Draco to sink to the ground, wishing for it to swallow him whole.

************************************************************

Draco wasn't sure how long he sat there, but night had fallen when his phone began to ring. He plunged his hand into his pocket and rooted around with benumbed fingertips until he made contact with the device. When he pressed it to his face, the metal, warmed by his pocket, felt soothing against his frozen ear.

"Hello?"

"Draco?…Draco, what's wrong?"

"Harry…nothing, I'm just…cold."

There was silence on the other end. Harry was obviously thinking, trying to decipher Draco's tone of voice. Finally he spoke in a cheerful, yet somewhat worried tone. "Well go inside where it's warm. You aren't any good to anyone sick. I leave for Ireland tomorrow, and I thought maybe you wanted to get dinner or…something. I'll be gone for several weeks. If you're busy though…"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"…Yes…"

"Well…do you want to meet me here then?"

"That would be fine, I'll be there soo…" Draco stopped mid sentence and surveyed his surroundings. "Harry…this may sound odd but…I haven't the faintest idea where I am."

"What?"

"I'm in an alley…I was sitting here thinking, but I don't remember how I got here. It's night now…I don't think I can find my way."

Draco felt his eye twitch as Harry's riotous laughter came pouring through the phone. "Really now…it's not *that* funny…this is a rather large city, I'd think it'd be terribly easy for anyone to get lost."

Slowly, Harry calmed. "Alright, alright. Just describe where you are and I'll see if I can figure it out."

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Draco pulled his coat around him tighter, trying to ward off the unrelenting night chill. Harry had seemed confident that he could figure out where he was, and now he had but to wait. He had just relaxed a bit when a voice from behind startled him.

"Hey there pretty Dragon. Are you lookin' for a date?"

Draco turned, snarling and ready to attack. When he did he met, surprisingly, a kind and familiar face. Harry leaned against the wall, smirking.

"That was *not* funny. I was about to attack you, you know? I'd have ripped you to shreds. They'd never identify you."

Harry's smirk remained intact. "Ooh. Scary."

The two began to walk toward a better part of town where they could find a restaurant. Their bantering continued the whole way.

"Damn right it is. And I am *not* pretty."

"Yes you are."

"That's it…I'm calling a hit man. Pack your shit and run Potter. No one calls Draco Malfoy pretty and lives."

Harry chuckled. "Oh, and here I thought I had special privileges…you're right though…you aren't pretty. You're beautiful."

Draco stopped.

Harry sighed and turned to him. "What? If this is the woman thing again, I've already told you…no, Draco, you don't look, act like or even remotely resemble a female in any way…I don't know why you're so sensit…"

"That's not it. Let's just eat…okay?"

Harry eyed him, puzzled. "Sure thing…are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, I just want to catch up with you…hmph…I need to see how you're surviving without my constant masculine strength to support you."

If it weren't for the smirk, Harry might have believed he was serious. Draco was, after all, known to say some pretty outrageous things. He threw his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture and leaned against Draco's shoulder. He spoke with far too much enthusiasm. "Oh god! How will I survive?! The great and wondrous Draco Malfoy has left my side…I am dooooomed!"

Draco was not amused.

"Better order a side of talent with your meal, Potter."

******************************************************


Throughout dinner they talked excitedly with one another. Harry recalled his hectic week, the signing of contracts and preparations for trips to far away lands. Draco spoke of all that he had learned when he'd been forced to take the reigns with his business. After a while, the conversation turned to other things – wizard politics, broom preferences, different spells, and marvels of the muggle world. When the waiters began to flip the empty chairs around them on top of the tables and the sound of a vacuum sliced through their conversation, the two realized they'd been sitting and talking for close to 3 hours.

They shared a glance of mutual surprise and simultaneously began to laugh, ignoring the annoyed glares of the wait staff. After a brief argument over who would pay the bill (which Harry won upon the threat of exposing Draco's affinity for talking to strangers when drunk), they again set out into the night. Harry pulled his coat on tighter, glancing sideways at Draco who was doing the same.

"I can't believe we were in there so long. It's a good thing I'm already packed."

Draco nodded. "I know…I had no idea we were sitting there for three hours."

He glanced around as they continued their stroll, confusion taking over his countenance. "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Where are we going?"

Harry stopped and a small chuckle escaped his lips. "You know something? I have no clue…I was just walking."

"Well where are we?"

Harry put his hand on Draco's shoulder, and the action caused no discomfort on either of their parts. "We're not too far off. Come on…I'll walk you to your hotel. I wouldn't want you getting lost again."

Draco scowled and brushed the hand away with feigned irritation. "Ha Ha. I can find my own way, thank you."

With a smile Harry stepped back and crossed his arms. "Okay, so go then…which way is the hotel?"

Draco looked around him. Maybe it was that way? No…that wasn't right….maybe this way?....no. After a few moments of this he threw his hands into the air his eye twitched as he addressed Harry. "Fine! I have no clue where to go. Happy? So go…lead the way."

"With pleasure." Harry hooked his arm in Draco's they finished their walk to the hotel with more amiable conversation and laughs.

When they arrived, Harry untangled himself and there was a moment of awkward silence between the two. Finally, the moment was broken…by both of them attempting to speak at the same time.

"So I…"

"Well if you…"

Again they burst into laughter and their mirth seemed to smooth over any awkwardness that had been there before. It was Draco who spoke when the laughter began to subside.

"I had a really nice time. Thank you…for calling me."

"I did too. I wanted to see you before I left since I'll be gone for three weeks."

"What about your games?"

"Well, we have two games in Ireland while I'm there, so it works out. They seem to have everything covered, so basically I just go where I need to and leave the planning to them."

"Ah."

Another moment of silence.

"You can…"

"So I guess I'll…"

More laughter.

Draco brushed Harry's hair aside and ran his finger down the lighting bolt scar with the utmost tenderness. "Goodnight, Harry."

Harry smiled. "Goodnight."

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Draco entered his room and felt, oddly, at home. He hung his coat and immediately stripped off his shirt before tossing it over the back of a chair before padding over to the bar and making himself a drink. He summoned the remote to the stereo and switched the machine on, looking forward to the music. He'd, of course, *never* admit to his recent affinity for muggle music, but what harm could it do while he was alone? He'd just started to relax when he heard a knock at the door. He hadn't ordered anything from room service, had he? He usually did, so it wouldn't be a surprise if the staff simply came by to see if he needed anything. Crossing the distance to the door, he wondered whether or not he should put his shirt back on, but went against it. It was no big deal, and he didn't feel like remembering where he'd put it. The sight on the other side of the door was…unexpected.

"Harry. What are you doing here? I thought you had to leave early in the morning."

Harry smirked and pushed past him until he was fully inside the suite. "What do you think I'm doing here? Come on Draco…you're a smart guy."

Draco gaped as Harry took the drink out of his hand and tossed it over his shoulder. He barely registered that it made no sound when it hit the wall. "What are you mmpppghghhhh…"

It was the most forceful kiss of Draco's life. It was almost…painful. He, of course, had no complaints. His hands immediately gripped to Harry's clothes, literally tearing them off as the two of them headed, clumsy step by clumsy step, toward the bedroom.

They made it as far as the living room area when Draco pushed Harry down to sit on the coffee table. Harry's fingers began deftly undoing his trousers while his own fingers gripped the head of ebony hair positioned at his stomach. Between licks to Draco's navel, Harry spoke in a pleading, almost childlike voice.

"Come with me to Ireland."

"I can't."

*lick* "Please?"

"I…c…can't."

"Pretty please?" *lick lick*

Draco couldn't bite back a groan at that point and had to force coherent speech from his lips. "If I could…but…I can't..le…leave."

Harry smiled evilly and ran his tongue from Draco's navel down until he heard Draco gasp. "Pretty please with cherries on top?"

Draco let out a low growl and pounced, knocking Harry over and pinning him beneath him. "I prefer my cherries on the bottom."

Harry let out a squeak and was squirming underneath him. He placed kisses along the tanned chest and chuckled at the soft mewls he received for his efforts. Suddenly the skin seemed a bit paler than usual and the mewls deepened into groan. Two hands traveled up Draco's back and he shivered. When they reached his shoulders, he felt himself flipped over and now pinned beneath Ha…who was this? The image was softly blurred, but not unpleasant, and Draco was mildly confused. He reached his hand up to the face he wanted to see more clearly and ran his fingers through the long black hair that cascaded over him. Pulling his digits through the strands, Draco noted that they were the single softest thing he'd ever touched. The mood had changed, and before where there was playfulness and chatting, now there was restlessness and eager curiosity as fingers entwined with his own and held his hands to the coffee table. Draco had just begun to submit when a loud ringing noise came from the bedroom, interrupting.

"What the fuck?" Draco bolt upright in bed, slapping a hand at his alarm. He looked down at himself and noted his rather aroused state.

'What the hell was *that*?'

He ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair wiped the sleep from his eyes. It was morning now and he had more important things to worry about today than weird erotic dreams. He finally managed to get himself out of bed and headed to take a long…cold…shower.

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TBC

Hit the button….come on….you know you wanna.

Love and Kisses,

Reika