Harry collapsed onto the pitch sometime around five a.m., staring blankly up at the dark sky and heaving his lungs out. His mouth tasted like metal, his head was spinning, and the grass was itchy, but the cool dew that clung to the ground was refreshing against his burning skin. Ruby would have to Imperius him to take a fucking sleeping draught, but he didn't doubt her disappointment when she'd inevitably learn how hard he'd pushed himself tonight.

Draco likes me. He saw my scars, saw me cry like a fucking child, and he likes me.

If his muscles weren't all screaming at him, he would've thrown himself into more exercise to escape the agonising truth he'd forced himself to acknowledge. After all, he'd had plenty of casual partners, partners that nearly worshipped him for his deeds, but none of them had ever… Where did he even begin?

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding of his head, hoping he'd exhausted himself enough to be able to finally fucking sleep when he returned to his flat, but not too hopeful. After all he'd witnessed and lived through, this was the last impossibility he'd imagined he'd see.

And I kissed him bloody goodbye! Like I'm his boyfriend or something!

A groan interrupted his gasping as he curled onto his side, recalling the way they'd shared a laugh and then innumerable tender moments at this point. The kiss, the bloody kiss the night before…

Reluctantly, he forced himself to his feet and started hobbling toward the locker room. Makes no fucking sense why I've told him so much. Why his touch makes me cry, loosens my lips like no one else has. It's like I've been keeping all these secrets specifically for him!

NOT because I like him! He's just… He's fucking fit, and I…

When no answers came to him, he sighed. A quick shower later found him Apparated back to his flat, but just as the first rays of dawn started to leak through his windows, he found his mind no less tumultuous than when he'd escaped onto the abandoned pitch. Thankfully, they wouldn't be having practice for a few weeks as a reward for winning the Cup, so he had nowhere to be today, but the thought of lying awake in his bed and staring at the ceiling was as unappealing as anything, so he flopped down onto his couch with an even graver sigh.

Scrubbing at his eyes, he sent a quick Accio to the muscle-relaxer potion he kept for moments when he'd pushed his body to its limit and set to work spreading it over his limbs. If only there was something, some quick fix to shut down his fretting and give him a bit of relief from the agonising–

Like Draco touching me.

His hand paused on his bicep, vaguely lavender potion dripping down his arm as he stilled. That was it, wasn't it? There's got to be some answer as to why it's him and not anyone else. His instincts told him he should ask Hermione why something like this would be happening, but there was no chance he would tell her any of it.

It's got to be fucking magic.

I can't believe this is fucking happening. Draco stared blankly down at the contract on the table before him, not really seeing it but forcing his eyes to scan it like he was reading it. At this point, he trusted Maureen enough to let her decide if this was a good idea or not, but found himself glancing up at the reps across from them occasionally. Two finely dressed witches and one equally finely dressed wizard waited patiently for them to complete the document.

An elbow against his arm drew his attention back to Maureen, who was gesturing down at something in the contract with stern eyes. He followed where her quill hesitated, and made out the words "occasional partial nudity," sending his eyebrows nearly through his hairline. He glanced back towards his agent, who had the question clearly written out in her eyes, but he only shrugged. So with a bemused frown, she continued leafing through the document.

Never in all my life did I think I'd be approached by goddamn Rutherford's. Only ponces who wear nothing but luxury brands even read this shite.

He flinched internally as he recalled how ardently his mother followed the publication. This was true Wizarding high fashion, and they were offering him a year contract! When they reached the end of the seemingly endless document, the figure printed at the bottom boggled his mind. And still Maureen caught his eye again with a quirked eyebrow, as if to suggest they haggle over it. As if I'm even worth this much.

"I don't see any issues," he finally said, despite Maureen's beginnings of a protest, and plucked the quill out of her fingers. He was scratching his signature into the parchment before she could, though, and she released a sighed.

"Excellent. We look forward to working with you, Mr. Malfoy," one of the witches stood with a smile and extended her hand. One Draco stood to take, swallowing back his flinch at the title as best he could.

"Likewise."

Maureen was a bundle of red ringlets bouncing after him out of their offices back to the lobby, and Draco could feel her words building between them like a balloon fit to burst, but she didn't unleash them until they were well out of earshot of anyone associated with the posh building they'd just left together.

"Draco!" she hissed, catching his elbow as they turned a corner back towards Muggle London. "Did you read any of the things I underlined? Did you read anything at all?"

He shrugged out of her grip, casting a dubious glance back at her. "No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me what I missed."

"Great! Fabulous! You've just signed a year of your life away without any idea what you've signed up for. You know, they throw those figures in at the end to distract you, and clearly it works!"

A young witch on the sidewalk halted mid-step, hand-in-hand with her young daughter, as her eyes lighted on Draco. Even from a distance, he saw the colour leech from her cheeks as she hastily ushered the girl into the nearest establishment, but he didn't pay them any mind. He hadn't recognized her, and he was used to being recognized at this point. Quidditch Times had earned quite a bit of backlash when they'd started giving him gigs, but now that a magazine like Rutherford's had signed him, what could they expect?

When Draco didn't respond for long enough, Maureen went on: "No drinking, no drugs, no body modification, no public relationships, no statements to the press without one of their people to vet your responses, full disclosure of your body, you're essentially their slave from now until this time next year. Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, I'm listening." No more trips to Muggle bars. 'S not such a great loss. "Anything else?"

"You're really alright with all that?" she wondered as she followed him up the steps to a local diner. "Nothing sticks out as, I dunno… Problematic?"

Draco levelled a half-hearted glare at the woman as they slid into a booth opposite each other. He didn't have to wonder at her meaning, but Harry had already expressed his wish to keep things between them a secret, so it wasn't like all that much was changing, really.

"Nope."

Harry'd been inhaling ungodly amounts of various breakfast foods when a thin chime sounded through his flat, indicating someone welcome through his wards was at the door. With a swig of tea to wash his mouthful down, he curiously went to answer, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms and his glasses. And was surprised to see an anxious-looking Ruby.

"Ruby? Not like you to show up unannounced," he began, but she only pushed past him, wringing her hands together, and dread sunk in Harry's gut. Oh god, what now?

"Morning. Ah… Er, there's, ahm…" She paced around his entryway for a moment, casting him nervous glances for just a beat too long as he shut the door behind them.

"Spit it out, woman. Christ, you're going to give me an ulcer."

"There's an event tonight. I didn't tell you because I assumed you'd not want to go, but… Well, I might've overheard the Cannons, er… Planning on ambushing you…"

Harry felt his eyes go wide, his pulse loud in his ears for a beat. "When."

"Around seven?" Ruby winced.

"Black tie?"

The apologetic smile on his agent's face told him enough, and he felt the blood leave his face. Shit…

"I'm– I'm really sorry, Harry, they sounded… Quite put out with you always dodging, I didn't think they'd take kindly to my interference."

Harry stumbled past her towards his dining room where he'd been gorging, willing the feeling back into his fingers. Of course they'd think I'm only being ornery and private about my life, they don't know how I get in situations like those; I've never let them see me like that.

"Fuck," he whispered as he dropped back into his seat, elbows on the table and face in his hands. Even Ruby only knew the half of it, but if they were going to ambush him at his flat… "I'll just… Make myself scarce, yeah? Somewhere they can't find me."

Ruby's heels clicked against the tile as she came to sit opposite him, and when he peeked at her through his fingers, he found the sympathy she'd been wearing bending slightly sideways into something a bit sterner, and he wanted to be sick.

"Harry… I know you don't like large social gatherings, but… Suppose you lend your presence for one night, hm? The team won't have grounds to get on your case anymore, and you can dispel the rumours about your… Y'know…"

Harry dropped his hands to the table, glaring at her dryly. "My what?"

She gnawed on her lower lip a moment before blurting, "Your asbo, okay? Despite my best efforts to paint you in a favourable light, your lack of public appearances hasn't gone unnoticed, and… People talk, Harry."

The dread in Harry's gut lit aflame all of a sudden, and he wanted to lash out, to yell at Ruby for caring what people said because he certainly didn't, but… In the end, he just heaved a great sigh and leaned back against his chair to stare at his ceiling. It's not her fault, this is literally her job.

"Fine. One night."