Already more drunk than was wise, Draco downed yet another shot. It was Astoria's fault – she loved tequila and her love was infectious, especially when one's defences were weakened, for example, with alcohol.

"Um, Drey?" Draco looked down at Ivy, and saw her furrowed brows and slight frown. She leaned forward and stepped up onto her tiptoes as Draco bent down slightly. Ivy glanced sideways, as though checking that nobody was eavesdropping. "I think that there's a man stalking you," she said.

"What? Who?" he whispered. His thoughts, hazy and sluggish and disjointed as they were, went straight to Potter. Potter who appeared in his life after three years. Potter who screamed and disappeared and left him again.

"That guy there," she said, jerking her head towards someone behind him.

Heart pounding, Draco spun around. Potter. For a second, he was certain. The ridiculous hair, the brown skin, the small frame. But then he took a moment to look, and the face was all wrong. The eyes were too small, the wrong colour as well. The lips were too pouty, the shy smile on them never one that Potter would wear.

From behind, Ivy placed her hands on his shoulders and murmured into Draco's ear, "I think he wants to dance with you."

"Oh."

She laughed, her breath tickling the back of his neck. Draco felt her push him towards the man that wasn't quite Potter.

He shook his head to clear that thought. What was he doing, his mind jumping to Potter with the slightest of encouragements? He was supposed to have left those days behind him. Now, dancing with strangers and flirting with pretty boys – and this boy was definitely pretty – were what Draco was good at.

"What are you two giggling about?" Astoria asked.

Draco simply winked at her before stepping backwards and disappearing into the crowd. A few moments later, he re-emerged, now in front of what he hoped would be the rest of his night. That shy smile grew when he saw caught sight of Draco, suddenly so close.

"Hi, I'm Draco."

"Raj."

"It's lovely to meet you, Raj. See, I couldn't help but notice that you weren't dancing and I really like this song, so I've come over to fix this problem."

"You have, have you?" Raj laughed. He had a very nice laugh, Draco thought.

Draco took the almost empty drink out of Raj's hand and placed it on the counter beside them. He then took his hands into his own and pulled him towards the dancefloor.

Raj was a good dancer. He felt the music and moved as though he were part of it. As the song progressed, he closed the distance between them, which wasn't particularly large to start with, so Draco was able to feel him moving against him. The song ended and other started and the pair continued to dance.

Then 'Careless Whisper' by George Michael started to play and Raj's face lit up. Draco wanted to kiss him. Before that thought was even complete, however, Raj spun around and, like a professional, started to grind against him. Draco laughed; he wasn't about to protest. He ran his hands over Raj's body, and Raj responded by reaching backwards and gently running his fingers along the sides of Draco's thighs, stopping at his hips, then bringing them down again.

Raj tilted his head back so it rested against Draco's shoulder. Draco could see the soft skin of Raj's neck. It was glowing in the red light. Draco wanted to place his lips against it, lick the beads of sweat off it. He wanted to hear the man in his arms moan. He wanted to take him home and throw him into his bed. He wanted to kiss each scar as his mouth made its way downwards. He wanted to see those green eyes wide open as he reached…

Fuck.

Draco froze. Raj turned around, sensing the change in his dance partner, brown eyes looking up at him with concern. Draco stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he said before he walked away. He tried to ignore the image of Raj's face falling as he left.

Sweaty, aroused and unhappy, Draco pushed through the crowd towards the exit. He bumped into that man from the reformation programme whose name he couldn't remember, but didn't pause to apologise. Draco needed to get out.

The fresh air felt like a slap against the alcohol in his system. He leaned against the wall, panting, the bass still audible but no longer pounding in his chest.

He exhaled a deep breath and decided to go home, rather than analyse his drunken thoughts about a former nemesis. He would apologise to Astoria tomorrow.

Draco wasn't sure of the way to the nearest underground station, but it was a Friday night in Soho, so he knew that he just had to follow the trail of drunk people. Before he managed to even cross the road, however, he heard his name being shouted. He turned around to see Astoria.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I don't feel very well. I was going to go home."

"You were just going to go without saying bye? And I would have spent the rest of the night scared and trying to find you if Luke hadn't seen you rushing off and told me?"

"Luke! His name is Luke!"

Astoria just looked at him, unblinking, her front teeth grinding together.

"I'm sorry."

"What the fuck, Draco?"

"I just couldn't be in there anymore, then when I was out, I couldn't go back into all of that to find you."

"What's wrong?" she asked, the anger on her face immediately transforming into concern.

"It's nothing."

"Fucking bullshit, but fine, let me take you home anyway." She stepped forwards and was lit up by neon lights the spectrum of a rainbow. Her blonde hair now multicoloured and her blue eyes still bright, Draco thought that she was perfection personified.

He remembered the first time he brought her home and his mother thought that they would get married. Of course, Astoria then said, "Mrs Malfoy, your son is a delight, but I like pussy." He remembered the look of absolute shock on his mother's face. He remembered the courage it gave him, so he came out too, then and there, albeit less crudely. And Astoria stood by him as he faced the aftermath.

Draco extended his hand. Fingers intertwined, they walked until they found an empty street corner, then they disappeared into the darkness. The squeezing sensation passed and Draco found himself outside his apartment.

"Thank you," he whispered, hugging her then almost falling over as the alcohol left his world spinning.

Astoria laughed as she helped him regain balance. Once safely upright and steady, she stepped back, took his face into her hands and looked deep into his eyes. "I'll come over tomorrow. You'll be okay, I promise," she said.

Draco nodded. He remembered how Blaise had said the same thing earlier. Draco didn't want to think about how pathetic he must have appeared today to his friends. With a final reassuring smile, Astoria disapparated and Draco was alone. Again.

Yet, as he walked up the final few stairs leading to his floor, he felt a presence. A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him. There was someone sat on the floor beside his front door, their head bowed, the same messy hair.

Harry Potter looked up at Draco.

Purplish-blue was emerging from beneath the skin around his left eye, like a paint splatter, like art. A line of blood perfectly divided his lower lip into two soft-looking and swollen halves. His hands – fists that were cradled in his lap – wore bloody knuckles as rings.

They stared at each other, neither breathing for fear of breaking the peace. But breathing was a struggle for Draco and he eventually gasped for air.

Potter looked up at the corridor light, blinking quickly, almost as though blinking back tears. He cleared his throat then finally looked back at Draco.

"This was a mistake. Sorry," he said. He stood up quickly, but before he was even fully upright, he was gone.