... like a snitch ...

(or 'Coffee with Oliver' or 'How to Love a Slytherin')

"Ye an' Malfoy, eh?" Oliver asked as he poured more sugar into his morning coffee.

He was broader than Harry remembered and his hair tighter against his scalp. It had been almost five years since they last seen each other. Five years was far too long.

The café in the Canary Wharf district was bustling with young office types and University artistes. The smell of pastry and imported café au lait danced in the air around them. The tabourets were uncomfortable, but that never stopped Oliver from frequenting his favoured spot whenever he was in London.

Harry seemed to blush his admission rather than voice it.

"I shoulda' known," Oliver said, bringing the cup to his lips, which contorted into a tight 'o'. He blew lightly into the cup, cooling its contents before taking a sip. "Th' way ye carried on at Hogwarts..."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, almost sulkily as he turned to look out of the café window. "How do you do it?" he asked, turning to look at Oliver.

"Do wha'?"

"Keep them?"

"Keep wha'?"

"A Slytherin."

Oliver set his cup down and rolled his eyes, "They're not pets to be kept, mate," he said, far more sternly than Harry thought necessary, "an' ye're not in Hogwarts anymore. Slytherin. Gryffindor. None o' that matters out here."

Harry leaned in on the table, which shifted towards him, almost precariously. Oliver scrunched his nose, looking uncomfortable as he shifted enough to see that one of the legs of the table's base was raised slightly off the floor. He pulled out a small matchbook from his pocket, leaned down, and set it under the elevated leg, steadying the once-unstable table.

"Ahh! Much bettah," he announced before tending to his drink.

"But," Harry continued, "We were placed in our houses for a reason, yeah? Surely dating a Slytherin would be different than dating say..." Harry fished around for examples, "Ron or ... me, even."

Oliver took a moment to consider the question. Truly, he was trying to find the underlying issue in Harry's question. Were he and Draco having difficulties? Was their much-publicized scandal of an affair coming to an end? Was the honeymoon over? Were they waking up from their fairy tale?

For a moment, Oliver felt envious of Harry and Draco's relationship. He only wished he could have had someone to talk to when he and Marcus stopped fucking and started dating.

Harry thought Oliver would never speak again. His silence only cemented the fear that a relationship between he and Draco was utterly and completely devoid of hope.

Clearing his voice, Oliver said, quite softly, "Ye have t' love 'im for who he is."

Harry's eyes jerked to Oliver, who stared almost blankly at the window.

"Ye have t' remember why ye fell for 'im in th' first place because, undoubtedly, it'll be the same shite that drives ye mad." Oliver looked Harry in the eyes, "An' ye'll miss him when he's gone."

Harry looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He didn't know why.

Oliver continued, "Dinnae expect an apology, either. Ye won't get one." As if he knew Harry would object, he quickly continued, "An' don't ask for one. If ye have to ask then ye don't deserve it."

There was a deafening silence between them, now. The clatter of cutlery against plates, mumbled dialogue and shuffled feet seemed to be repelled by the sheer pensiveness of their conversation. The waitress, a slender dirty blonde with an infectious, if not tiring, smile sauntered by, refilling Oliver's cup.

"You sure you don't want anything, love?" she asked Harry.

"No, I'm fine. Cheers," he answered with a smile of his own.

As she left, Oliver cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention back to him.

"Whatever y'do," Oliver maintained, pouring more hot milk into his café au lait, "dinnae try an' make 'im choose between you and his family." Oliver began flicking two packets of sugar when he saw Harry's quizzical expression. One eyebrow cocked when he warned, "Ye may not like the choice he makes."

"Did... did you try and do that with Flint?"

"Aye. Once," he said, bringing his cup to his lips. He stopped before taking a drink to look fixedly into Harry's eyes. "An' only once."

"What happened?"

"Well," Oliver took a deep breath before continuing, "Let's just say that Marcus doesn't like his parents, but he does love them. There's a difference."

Harry nodded.

"Why do love Flint?" The words escaped Harry's lips before he had the chance to think about them. He tensed, instantly regretting it. Oliver shrugged and chuckled.

"I dunno," he answered, honestly, "We had our moments and I'm not the easiest person t' live with, if ye can believe that." A smile stretched across Oliver's lips as he stared off into nowhere with a rapt expression. "But there's no one else I'd want in my corner if I needed support, y'know?"

And Harry did.

Oliver grimaced slightly, shaking his head and returning his attention to his coffee, "Don't go looking for a reason, Harry – or understanding. Ye won't find it. Ye won't know why ye love 'im anymore than I know why I love Marcus. Merlin knows they are both right prats most of th' time. But when he's gone..."

"... You miss him." Harry said, as if finishing Oliver's thought.

"No, mate," he corrected with a slight laugh, "I ache for 'im." Although there was no smile on his face, there was little doubt in his voice. "Whatever ye do, Harry, don't try an' change 'im. People don't change – they can't. 'Specially people like us."

Harry bit his lip, allowing Oliver's words to sink in.

"D'ye love Draco?"

Without missing a beat Harry nodded.

"Well, Draco Malfoy is Draco Malfoy because of everything he's experienced: from every taunt he's ever thrown and every fight you've ever had; from almost killing Dumbledore to turning over information to The Allies during the war; his mother, his father, his past, his disdain for Muggles... all of it has come together t' make Draco Malfoy who he is right now – right this minute."

Oliver reached over the table and took Harry's hand, giving it a re-affirming squeeze. "An' tha's th' Draco ye love. Making 'im into some model Gryffindor won't make ye love 'im more. It'll make ye miss 'im – and lose 'im."

As if on cue, the waitress dropped the check on the table. Oliver pulled away to reach for his back pocket.

"No, no," Harry said with a slight girn, "I said this was my treat."

Quickly looking over the cheque, he handed her money and, with a grin, said "Keep the change."

The waitress smiled before turning to walk off.

Harry inhaled deeply with a smile, "Thanks for talking with me, Oliver."

"I hope things work out with Malfoy. It'll be rough, Harry, I cannae lie t'ye. But life is too short, yeah?" Oliver stood, grabbing his jacket that he had been sitting on and putting it on. As he fumbled with the zipper, he continued "When we find happiness, we gotta snatch it up."

"Like a snitch?" Harry asked, grinning ear-to-ear like a schoolboy.

Oliver beamed, enjoying in the analogy. "Yeah... like a snitch."

There was a moment when both parties seemed be digesting the last exchange, Oliver with his hand still on the zipper of his jacket. He shook his head, "Well, I have your number, Harry. I promise to keep in touch."

Harry stood and held out his hand. Oliver took it before pulling him into an embrace. Kissing the soft skin behind Harry's ear, Oliver whispered, "Ye of all people deserve t' be happy. Don't fight it... don't question it. Jus' enjoy it."

With a squeeze and a pat on the shoulder, Oliver was gone.

Harry hoped it wouldn't be another five years before they could talk again.