AJ586 – see where I'm heading? Next chappie's gonna be the gooey crap! dances around the Entrance Hall scaring Slytherins

Slytherinkid07 – thanks! If you wanna send me a mail pointing out what you don't understand and what seems unconnected, I'll see what I can do. I've got two great betas, helping me with the obvious problems, but usually they don't complain about the story as such. Aw! I've been author alerted more than once now! is silly and happy

diinamichelle - you must be my most constant reviewer, next to creativeangel. Appreciate you soooo much! And here's your reward, if a reward it could be called. ;)

Silent Truth – wow! Thanks! That gibberish made me feel so appreciated! Thanks for the cookies, I'll talk to Lucifie and see if he'll save your friend for you grins

creativeangel – I don't remember reading that one, care to send me a link? And one to the sequel would be greatly appreciated too. Working on your second chapter, but my inspiration is going low atm.

CHAPTER 6 – Preparations for Christmas Eve

"Har, no, no, no," Draco protested loudly. "I will not have you disgracing my home in that outfit! There must be something more suitable in your wardrobe?!" The last words were almost panicked.

"There isn't," Harry concluded. "I have my school robes and this one and that's it."

"It's a half-dusty, plain black robe. Have you seen my clothing?" he asked the other, whose green eyes had fixed their gaze somewhere else.

"Well… yes," Harry admitted. He didn't want to think of that. Or of how good Draco had looked in them. Either made him feel ashamed of himself for his lack of clothes.

"What did you think of them?"

"They were…" he sought for the proper word and, before he could help himself, he spoke his mind, "…damn sexy." This made him blush and turn away. Draco, however, showed no outward reaction, even if the words burnt into his soul with an intensity he hadn't thought capable.

"Correct," he said, keeping his voice strictly under control. "That's the dress code of a Slytherin party: damn sexy. What you're wearing lacks all style and fashion sense. Now, let's get going."

"What?" Harry whirled around, suddenly surprised. "Where? Why?" This made Draco sigh.

"Well, I reckon you don't know the place. It's a fashionable wizard's tailor I usually go to, Mister Tourmani's. Why? Because you need proper clothes. Now, come on! We want to be back in two hours, before Pansy returns for the finishing touches." With this, Draco dragged a surprised Harry down all the stairs to the main fireplace in the Entrance Hall, where he took some floo powder out of a silver pot and watched Harry intently.

"Now, Har. There is only one rule: Speak. Clearly. I will have your head cut off if you get lost. Understood?" To this, Harry nodded, somewhat nervously. Draco sighed. "You go first."

Harry grabbed some of the powder out of the pot and looked at Draco questioningly. "What should I say?"

"Tourmani's," the blonde said, locking his quicksilver stare with the stormy sea that was Harry's eyes. "Trust me." Somehow, this made the sea tranquil and, with a nod, Harry threw the powder into the fireplace.

"Tourmani's," he spoke loudly. As he disappeared in the green flames, Draco smiled. Harry trusted me, his mind spoke sweetly. If I only give him time…

Without finishing the thought, Draco stepped forward confidently, throwing his powder with an elegant gesture, speaking in his honey-on-ice-voice the word that his beloved companion had spoken mere seconds before.

"Mr. Tourmani, a pleasure to see you," Draco gracefully greeted.

"Young Mr. Malfoy," the man answered. He was clad in a classy manner and seemed to be the kind to spend two hours of every morning correcting his already perfect outside. "And your guest would be…?"

"This, Mr. Tourmani, is Harry Potter," Draco presented in a graceful way and for a split second the older man was close to losing his face.

"Is it, indeed? Yes, I must say it is quite alike the pictures of him. What can I help you two young men with today, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Mr. Potter needs a new set of clothes, considering his current wardrobe."

"Ah, yes." This seemed to immediately bring forth the tailor in the man's soul. "I will need to take a closer look then. Mister Potter," he commanded politely, "would you be as kind as to take your clothes off?" he suggested, making Harry blush furiously. Draco smiled. He could not deny that this would be most interesting. A few stifled protests later, Draco explained what he was expecting from the garments while Harry reluctantly undressed.

Draco settled into a comfortable armchair, watching as the tailor measured Harry from head to toe. So did Draco, however with a gaze far less obvious than Tourmani's. As he had expected, Quidditch had done a lot of good for the Gryffindor. His muscles clearly marked, and his skin had become slightly tanned somewhere along the way, unlike Draco's own pale silver-hue skin. He was as alluring to the young Malfoy as had he been the exquisite Lorelei herself, with her songs of wonder and vision that spellbound sailors of old times to sail to their deaths.

"Now… let us see…" The older man summoned up some different fabrics and quickly began testing hues and materials with a professional's certain hand. After discarding most, he had some very interesting materials left. Ten minutes later, he had charmed a few pieces of fabric to turn into something that stunned Draco completely.

"Merlin," he breathed when Harry turned around. "Now all that's left is those glasses," he pointed out, levitating them off with a flick of his wrist, placing them carefully in his own pocket. With a few select words, Harry's eyesight was repaired, the emerald eyes widening at the action. "Perfect." Draco's breathed heavily. "Absolutely perfect."

Harry wore a tight, turtle-necked tank top in shining black leather that, from Draco's point of view, emphasized all the right things. Harry didn't seem too comfortable, but the blonde was certain that he would be able to change that, too. And as for the pants… a mix of shimmering dragon scales and forest-green silk that clung to everything, matching his eyes. The dragon scales sparkled like many-coloured flames in the lamplight. At this heavenly sight, Mr. Tourmani nodded sceptically.

"With such short notice, this would be the best I can do. When I have measured you another two or three times I will be able to improve the matching, but for now, as I understood it, we have no time." This evidently annoyed the man, but he said no more of it. "I will create your account here, to where shall I send the note?" Harry's face turned into a mask of confusion, as it had done all too often in the last two weeks, Draco thought, deciding it'd be better if he answered.

"For the moment, you can send them to the Manor. Any change and we will of course inform you directly, Mr. Tourmani." This seemed to satisfy the man and the two boys left for the Malfoy Manor and the stimulating task of keeping Pansy Parkinson from remodelling the entire estate to a fluffy pink-and-purple fashion-palace. Foremost, this was done by Draco's strict order to keep to the first floor. 

The first thing that slipped off Harry's tongue when they were back at the manor was a whining protest.

"I can't wear this!"

"Of course you can," Draco said, smiling. "You will be one of the hottest pieces of wizard ass at the party, which is exactly what I had in mind." He pointed at Harry with the discarded glasses.

"I won't have you disappoint me, nor our guests. Do you remember what I told you about the party dress-code?"

"Damn sexy," Harry repeated glumly and with a hint of panic, as he slowly came to realise that he would be wearing these scary clothes all night.

An hour later, Pansy arrived in her dark purple, oh-so-tight dress, bringing lots and lots of flowers, something that made the owner of the house flinch more than a little, but somehow she got her way and soon the Entrance Hall looked like a wizard's flower garden gone mad. And in the sparkling colours of the entrance hall, they waited. The Slytherin girl ran around the rooms, checking everything. Draco had dressed up – a silver-white velvet shirt held together with a snake-like cord of golden dragon's scales, the long sleeves flowing. The pants were in all hues of red and gold that fire could dream of. Harry couldn't make out what fabric those were made of, and when he asked Draco smiled dreamily.

"Royal Phoenix feathers sewn with dragonheart strings. I've never used them before, wanting to save them for some special occasion." On this, the still blushing almighty saviour of the world had no comments.

An hour before nightfall the first guests began arriving in the Hall. Blaise was first, of course, being one of the hosts and all. The drinks were not very spectacular, but Harry decided that getting drunk might be a good idea considering the comments on his clothing that both Pansy and Blaise had given him. "Spectacular" had been Zabini's observation and Parkinson's statement had been: "Now that is what I call thoroughly sexy". The raven-haired Gryffindor felt entirely out of place and wasn't sure he'd manage to live through the night. But then, Draco was by his side, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving him a heartening smile and then he felt that maybe, just maybe, he could live to tell the tale.

"It's a little sad," Pansy complained. "This'll be our last party really breaking the rules. Then we'll be old enough to do all the stuff we've always done. That won't be as fun."

"Mhm." For some reason, Draco couldn't keep his eyes off Harry. Blaise had taken him aside for some stupid, far-fetched explanation of the kind that only Blaise could think of. Still, the man was his best friend in all of Slytherin. But he has nothing on Har, the blonde stated to himself. At last he surrendered to the fact that he would never again consider that dark-haired, green-eyed young man, strengthened from chasing the Snitch for years, anything else than a miracle of a friend. Or, if he would ever… don't be stupid, he's not gay. But his mind whispered to him: You can make him, can't you? Pride of the Malfoy family, wouldn't that be a test worthy of you? One you'd enjoy tremendously, too…?

"It's kind of cute, really," Pansy mumbled at him as they both watched Harry's fumbling attempts at discouraging Blaise, in whatever he was planning, on the other side of the room.

"What?" Draco asked, absent-mindedly, making the girl smile even wider.

"The way you and Potter get along. Like the way you've even taken to calling him 'Har', now that's cute if anything," she giggled. Grey eyes went wide and pale face went paler, as Draco's train of thought broke off and his head whipped to face the girl.

"I haven't!" Draco's breathing was heavy and his eyes didn't leave his housemate's. She blinked.

"You didn't realise?" For a moment they were both stunned into silence.

"If you ever…" Draco begun at the same time as Pansy started off with: "You can't possibly…" In the following seconds, the silence hung thick in the air, Draco sighed deeply and Pansy giggled. Then he turned to face her properly.

"You tell anyone and you're one dead woman, Parkinson," he threatened.

"I don't have to," she mumbled innocently. "I've got this feeling you're revealing this all by yourself."

"Oh dear Merlin," Draco whined. "I'm losing it…" he glared across the room. "And it's all because of that Potter." He emphasized the name clearly, wondering if this manoeuvre somehow could put Pansy off track, making her forget the incident. Not that he thought so – the concept was too tempting for the Slytherin girl to let go that easily. He continued to glare fixedly at the black hair, a frown on his face. The object of the stare seemed to realise someone was watching him, because he shrugged a little. A second later he turned and looked intently into Draco's eyes from across the room. By now, the pale young man felt like fainting.

That feeling had not disappeared an hour later when the last invited guest appeared through the fireplace with a satisfactory smile on her face. Draco nodded, smiling, toward his housemate and wondered where Blaise had hid Harry. Without his second half nearby, Draco's headache got worse with every passing minute. But to show weakness in front of a hall full of Slytherin students was unacceptable, so he kept a straight face and ignored the pain. When they had all gathered around a podium some square metres large, Draco and Pansy entered the stage. Pansy seemed to be at her best, while Draco mostly looked bored.

"Now where's Blaise?" Draco wondered, irritation tugging at the edges of his voice.

"Right here," came a voice from the other end of the room. As everybody turned to see what prank the young man was trying to play on them this time a shiver went through the crowd and suddenly everything was very silent. Har… now that's an entrance, Draco thought, smiling. Beside Blaise in the doorway stood the one person none of the guests would have expected, Harry James Potter, looking relaxed and in control. He was archenemy of many and not least of those, most would reflect, the owner of Malfoy Manor himself. At least, they thought so until Draco raised his cheerful voice in the hall.

"You're late, Blaise, darling. You too, Harry. Now get over here and let's get the drinking started!" And the four conspirators had the rare luck to experience a whole gathering of Slytherins and their Ravenclaw friends look baffled. It didn't take long for the whispers to start. Now, Draco was in his right element. The Slytherins parted before Blaise and Harry as the two walked towards the podium, Blaise with a very Slytherin grace, Harry with all the elegance a lion could muster in the midst of a snake pit. Draco grabbed him by the hand and helped him onto the stage, while the assembled seemed to wonder how the world had turned upside down without them noticing.

"Assembled Slytherins and friends of ours, tonight, we will have the honour of a special guest. Harry Potter will assume the place that he could have had, had the fates not been so cruel," Draco was smirking and obviously enjoying himself. "Tonight, friends all, he will be a Slytherin of Honour." Somewhere in the middle of the room, a young third-year Ravenclaw fainted.

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